Caned and Disabled
by fanastikal
Summary: The movie has ended, but this story has just begun.  Horvath's zapped and confiscated cane is creating all kinds of havoc for Balthazar, especially from its owner, who won't take no for an answer, about anything, especially if it has to do with Veronica.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Just to let everyone know, this is a major expansion piece based on 'That's Not How It Happened', which appears in an extended form in Chapters 2 and 3. I'm a novice on this site at multi-chapters, so have been having some trouble getting this up, but I'm there. It should be 9 or 10 Chapters, tops, and everything is done but the ending, as I have yet to define the definitive place to stop. I try to keep the Chapters under 4000 words, but I know one goes over, and I don't see how to cut it, so I probably won't. It's a definite M, again not too graphic, but with a couple surprises, especially if you have yet to read the base story, contained elsewhere under the M category for this movie, this wonderful, crazy, lovely movie!

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but if the ones that do want a dirty sequel, I'm there!**

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><p><strong>Caned &amp; Disabled<strong>

Veronica kissed Balthazar again once the necklace was in place, it looking incredibly beautiful on her, better than it ever did before, not that that was surprising. And then they heard a huge _CLANG_ and turned, each with an arm around the other. She gaped in surprise as she laid her eyes on the steel eagle, her hand tighter on Balthazar's shoulder, and he shrank slightly from pain.

"Sorry, beloved," she said quickly, easing her grip, watching his face as David and his obvious girlfriend took off. "What is that?"

"It's a gargoyle from a structure called the Chrysler Building." He was frowning slightly. "I animate it when I need to travel quickly. Maybe we'll ride on it together soon." He shook his head, and they began walking, "But obviously not tonight."

"Where are we going?"

"We can take my car—"

"Car?" His hand tickled her side in amusement. Veronica was exhausted and overwhelmed, her eyes constantly wide orbs as she tried to take everything in.

"It's a ridiculously common form of transportation, now," he said, waving his hand in the direction of a line of them parked nearby. "And that one's mine," he pointed to the gleaming black, gray and chrome machine parked by the iron fence.

"It's not like the others," she noted, somewhat intimidated.

"It's much older," he grinned. And then he heard Rebecca screaming, his head whipping towards the sky. "Do you hear Dave's girlfriend, Rebecca?" he wondered tensely, his hand up, fingers waving, ring glowing.

"I don't think so," she replied, "but I don't know what she sounds like."

"She's screaming like she fell off the eagle—"

"I don't hear that," and then she paled as she did. Balthazar's eyes were fixed on the sky, unblinking. "She couldn't've fallen off; it's going on too long," the woman winced.

"No." The answer was in a monotone. He was concentrating so hard that perspiration started to bead on his face, and he wiped it off absentmindedly.

"What about David?"

"He's on it." But that's all he was sure of. His right hand's fingers were curling successively over and over, pulling. The girl was only slightly less hysterical, not at all sure what was happening. If he'd been stronger, he might have been able to reassure her, but it was taking everything he had just to steer it from such a distance.

"How could they have gotten so far away, so soon?" Veronica was frustrated, her eyes also searching the sky where he faced.

"Because I'm good." She eyed him in shock, the corners of his mouth up slightly. She should've been relieved that he was joking, but she was too aware of his injuries, and his sheer exhaustion. He was in bad shape, but he wasn't showing it. Yet.

Finally, the eagle was in view, and within seconds, it landed. Balthazar broke his concentration, staggering backwards, and Veronica might have been able to steady him if Rebecca hadn't tackled him in gratitude, and he fell back hard onto the gray setted street. He laid there, holding the girl as she clung to him, openly crying. Dave had passed out, and it had taken all she had to keep him from falling off. Commanderless, the eagle had started to pitch wildly before the man had heard her cries. Veronica tentatively climbed aboard to check the unconscious lad. He was definitely out, and he had a high fever.

"Let me guess: Magical exhaustion?" Balthazar had prodded Rebecca up to a sitting position, but she still clung to him. She wasn't exactly crying, anymore, but she was shaking badly.

"Yes." He and Veronica eyed each other, and he sighed.

"This'll definitely go down as one of the dumbest things he's ever done—"

"Why?" the girl asked in a tiny voice.

"He defeated Morgana, and he brought me back from the dead." The man paused, wondering if Rebecca had known all that, but it really didn't matter. "That's a huge energy drain. He probably should've collapsed sooner, but you made him so high that he wasn't aware of the consequences until it hit him like a ton of bricks."

"That's exactly it!" she nodded emphatically, somewhat steadier. "We were kissing, and he dropped like a stone."

"Can you stand?" he wondered, suddenly anxious. "New York City is never this quiet this long."

"Oh!" she realized, stumbling to her feet, and then she and Veronica were helping him stand. Immediately, he was distracted again, turning towards the fence, fixated on the park behind it.

"Balthazar?" Veronica questioned as the girls eyed him. He and Veronica could hear the sirens, but Rebecca couldn't, not yet. He held up his hand: His ring was glowing brightly, but he wasn't doing it. Something was calling him. The woman didn't like it one bit: "Balthazar, it could be a trap." He shook his head as he staggered away from them.

"Get on the eagle—"

"No!" Becky protested, suddenly clinging to Veronica. And they hadn't even been formally introduced, yet. Not that it mattered. Thanks to him, and fate, the woman had two new instant companions: David, and Rebecca.

"I'm sending it to the lab," he explained. "It'll drop you off, and go back home," and then he winced at his choice of words: The last thing Rebecca needed to be told right now was that she was going to be dropped off. But he was impatient, and she hadn't seemed to notice, regardless. The girls were more upset that he was moving off by himself.

"I'm not leaving you alone," Veronica protested. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed, yet. He stopped, frustrated, and looked back at her.

"It's Merlin's ring, and I'm going to get it," he insisted, and she immediately understood. "Get on the eagle before the cops arrive. I'll be there in a little while. My car's right here." He touched it with his right hand, and it vanished from sight, and the girls both jumped. Rebecca heard the sirens, now, and freaked out, pulling Veronica, who was eyeing the man despairingly.

"You can't last much longer."

"I'll last as long as I have to."

She shrugged away from the girl, and the couple moved towards each other, meeting in a wild embrace:

"I love you."

"I love you."

And then she was back with Rebecca on the eagle, and he staggered back toward the fence. He glanced up as the steel bird took off, and smiled as the girls both screamed.

Horvath's cane had flown right back into the main, gated park, soaring high over the fountain to a far side, and Balthazar sprinted along the iron fence until the heat from the glow of his ring felt like it might burn his finger. Not that he cared. It was right here, somewhere, but he couldn't see it, and he scanned the fence wildly, looking for another gate. Nada.

The gate was all the way on the other side, but he didn't have time for that, scaling the fence the way he had before, ages ago, it seemed. Only this time, one of his shoelaces caught the top and held his foot back, the ankle twisting severely, but he barely made a sound as the bone snapped, running on pure adrenalin. He disintegrated the shoelace before he got any more contorted, and hit the grass face first. Heart racing, he used his good foot to launch himself forward desperately, crash landing on top of Horvath's cane.

"**Bravo!"** the man's voice thundered from somewhere above and behind him, laughing and clapping. Balthazar turned on his back instantly, spitting out grass, the cane clutched in his left fist as he glared at his former friend, barely three feet away. "I haven't seen you put on a show like that since we were teenagers."

"You're awfully jovial for a powerless sorcerer," he retorted.

"Well, what have I got to lose, now?"

"Your life, for one thing."

"You won't kill me, Balthazar; you're too _good_ for that."

"Pity."

"Veronica's right, though," the older man sneered. "You won't last too much longer." Blake was surprised, but he shouldn't have been. "I saw everything, of course. You were too busy being the hero to notice." Suddenly, the grass felt sinister, and Balthazar was instantly standing, the cane keeping the weight off his left foot, which was bent oddly. He'd widened the distance between them, but Horvath closed the gap again, surprisingly bold. The lighter man brushed his fingers over his lips to make sure no grass blades remained.

"So, you used me to find the cane," he sighed in resignation.

"You already knew that; that's why you went after it like you did. I almost had it." He laughed again, taking a step closer, "But it was worth it to lose it for that display."

"Was it?" he asked tiredly, and the darker man was testing him again. They were barely two feet apart.

"Fatigue doesn't suit you, Balthazar," he noted in a soft, mesmerizing tone. But the other shook his head:

"You're not boring me into a confrontation with the police, Maxim." The cops had been in the fountain area for a few minutes, but they were spreading out, and getting nearer. "I'm through amusing you." He started backing away slowly, this time towards the gate, limping heavily even with the cane. "Take a couple days to collect your thoughts, and then we can talk. You know where I am."

"Did you fuck her yet?" the man demanded, trying to get a rise, but he only shrugged.

"You tell me; you saw everything." He smiled as the man's face reddened: "Fatigue doesn't suit you, either, Maxim. Goodbye." He waved his right hand and vanished.

* * *

><p>"What was that?"<p>

"What was what?" the second officer demanded.

"I thought I heard a car door slam."

"The only cars here are ours." But the two men paled as a powerful engine started, everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Come on, baby, get me back to the lab," Balthazar whispered softly, stroking the steering wheel of the phantomed Phantom. It had been a long hobble back to this side of the park, and he was beat. "I'll caress your clutch when my ankle's better, I promise." The car purred in response, and he finally relaxed as it pulled away from the fence. The two officers heard the engine slowly fade away, looked at each other, and shook their heads: They were both overdue for a vacation.

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><p>Veronica and Becky had barely gotten Dave off of the eagle when it took off again, and they carried him down far into the lab, into a back room with two sparse cot-like beds.<p>

"This will be an excellent sickroom for our men," the woman announced with inevitability, as they laid Dave on the one nearest the door. They positioned the other bed about three feet away, and found a nightstand and lamp to put between the two. The room was way too bright with the overhead light on, but the lamp was perfect. Becky covered her boyfriend with a comforter and got a wet washcloth for his burning forehead, while Veronica got a chair for each bed before freshening the one that would be her beloved's. "I'm going outside to wait for Balthazar," she informed the girl, who nodded.

"Call me if you need help with him."

"Thank you," she smiled sadly, gently touching her shoulder as she left the room. She paused at the foot of the Merlin Circle, tears forming in her dark eyes: Balthazar had called it up beautifully. He was even stronger than she remembered. She'd annoyed him no end by telling him he was about to collapse; he'd collapse when he was damn well ready, thankyouverymuch. David's Encantus was on a lab table covered with white candles, as was the schematic for the fusion spell, and she gasped, shook her head, and finally headed up the stairs to the outside, needing air, nomatter how cold, or busy. New York City had not existed 1300 years ago, but it sure existed now.

The car appeared not 15 minutes later, and she watched it pull up to the curb with fascination. The engine shut off, and then . . . nothing. Veronica had watched a few people get in and out of various cars while waiting, and wondered if Balthazar was just . . . different. As if the car wasn't different enough: She had certainly noticed that everything about it was backwards from every other car she'd seen, like it had gone through a mirror world, and stayed that way. But she could deal with that: She stepped up to the passenger door and gently pulled on the handle. Apparently, it was locked, because it didn't open. Anxious now, she went into the street and pulled on the driver's door handle: Not that, either. She leaned up to the window, and started: Balthazar had his arms folded over the steering wheel with his head down in them, either asleep or unconscious, but either way, the woman didn't like it, knocking on the window:

"Balthazar?" Nothing. "Balthazar!" He didn't even move.

Trying not to panic, Veronica thought of two possibilities as she continued to study him. Most likely, since it was his, it was enchanted, bringing the exhausted sorcerer home and protecting him from intruders, such as this strange woman trying to break in. Or, someone had poisoned him, and trapped him in his own car to die while she struggled to free him with her currently non-existent magic. She shuddered, and then saw Horvath's cane, the base near his left foot, which was twisted oddly, the shoelaces gone from the dress shoe. And then she _really_ shuddered.

"Baby," she said softly, caressing the driver door handle and trying to think like her beloved. "Thank you for bringing Balthazar home safe to me. You may not know me, because I was trapped in the Grimhold for over a thousand years, but I'm sure he's talked about me." She swallowed nervously; she hoped the car wasn't jealous, or it might never let him out, and finally continued: "My name is Veronica, and it's a pleasure to meet you." She heard a soft _click, _and gently pulled the door handle, but she needn't have bothered, as the door practically opened itself. "Thank you," she smiled now, touched.

"I told you you were exhausted," Veronica whispered as she leaned in close to him, moving hair back and kissing his temple. He stirred at that, but when he opened his eyes and looked at her, she almost wished he hadn't.

"Where are we?" he demanded, flinching six different ways at the same time, all the pain of his injuries coming at him in a rush. Before she could answer, he looked wildly around, completely agitated, "Veronica, you're in the middle of the goddamn _street_!"

"I realize that," she huffed, standing straight, now. "Now, do I have to get Rebecca to help carry you—" but he was already out, slamming the door, and she cringed as he stalked inside the turnaround, using the cane, but still grunting furiously with each limped step, muttering something about 'stupid old man shoes'. "I'm sorry, baby," Veronica apologized to the car, running her hand along the hood as she walked around it. Balthazar had been using his exhaustion to mask his agony, but that little nap had shattered that defense. He hadn't meant to fall asleep that soon, and he was angry at himself for being angry at the world at that moment. He got to the top of the stairs, and froze, turning as the woman entered:

"Did you ward the entrances?" She looked at him strangely: He'd been here before, many times, apparently, so why hadn't it been warded previously?

"My magic isn't strong enough for that yet, or for almost anything else, for that matter," and he sighed sarcastically,

"Of course not." Veronica looked hurt, and he averted his gaze, "Look, I'm sorry—"

"I know why, so don't apologize." She was staring at his left foot, which looked like it could spin around. "Take your time, set the wards, and then we'll figure out the stairs." She smiled as he stared at her with his mouth open: "Be careful, beloved, or I'll be forced to put my tongue in there."

"Maybe later," he enthused, eyes sparkling just briefly before bringing his fingers up to his temples to concentrate on the wards and try not to get a headache. He was hoping that Horvath wasn't already stalking them, or out finding another ally, but it was probably inevitable. _Pain in the ass. _Veronica had disappeared into the lowest cavern of the turnaround: Apparently, she and Rebecca had done some domestic duties, and he suddenly wondered how Dave was.

Balthazar had probably made the wards unnecessarily complicated to rectify his sheer reckless carelessness of earlier, when he had dared believe Dave that they would be safe from Horvath down here. Of course they were for a while, but then the inevitable had happened. The man had nearly killed him then, before Dave had stopped the daggers. The memory was making him perspire. He leaned back against the wall, lifting the cane up with his left hand, leery of holding it with his right. No, he definitely wasn't feeling well, the cane back to the floor to steady him as he slid down the wall until he was sitting. He was thinking of hiding the cane, and the Grimhold in his coat, but his battered body was protesting: His strength was dissipating rapidly. Too much; way too much. It wasn't magical exhaustion; Balthazar didn't think he'd ever had that. It was his ribs, and his damned ankle, and everything else. Life had almost been easier when he was alone; he'd helped nearly everybody today, and there was no way he was going to be able to get back up.

The other 'jewelry' needed to be separated from the cane, and he brought it close to his face to study it: Merlin's ring, of course, but also Drake Stone's ring, and Abigail William's pentagram necklace. Balthazar frowned: Were they dead? Or just severely depleted? _Sorry kids; I can't help anyone else today._ The cane was suddenly too heavy for his hand, and he dropped it, it rolling across the landing as he watched dully, too weak to do anything about it, it bouncing down the stairs to the mid-level catwalk. The hyped-up Morganian castor rolled under the railing of the catwalk and fell through the air, its base hitting the edge of the Merlin Circle. The Circle burst into green flames as it vacuumed off and reclaimed the Dragon ring, and then there was a small explosion as the Circle expelled the offending Morganian object, the cane shooting across to the farthest end of the lab and clattering against the wall before finally landing on the stone floor. Balthazar would've laughed hysterically if he were still coherent.

"Balthazar?" Veronica called out anxiously, the first lady to emerge in the lab, wondering just what the hell had happened. She finally spied the cane on the floor, smiled at the glowing ring in the happy Circle, Its flames now rainbow-colored, and relaxed completely, calling out to the girl, "It's safe, Rebecca; Balthazar just dropped Horvath's cane, and we definitely need to go get him."

"Wow!" Becky exclaimed as she immediately entered the lab to follow Veronica, never having really noticed the Circle or seen it aflame before. "That's really pretty!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Okay, here we are, for those that read the original short story, 'That's Not How It Happened!' It's much longer, because of needed added details brought on by the first chapter, but since it's familiar, and in two chapters, I'm posting Chapters 2 and 3 as quickly and successively as I can.

**Disclaimer: Apparently, the owners won't be making a sequel, so I've made it for them!**

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><p>Balthazar's eyelids suddenly fluttered, almost at the exact moment that Dave could feel his heart thump again under his desperate palms.<p>

"I had a dream," he said softly, hoarsely, groggily. He was still trying to focus, dulled eyes struggling to stay on the boy's pale face. "You were molesting me, Dave . . . repeatedly."

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><p>"That's <em>not <em>how it happened!" Dave awoke with a start, grabbing nearly everyone's attention. Becky was across the stone room, where two twin sick beds had been placed just a few feet apart from each other. Veronica was seated in a chair next to Balthazar, who was the only one not startled by the boy's sudden yell, still out cold. Dave sat bolt upright in the bed, his girlfriend propping pillows for him to rest against, taking the damp washcloth from the comforter. She checked him for fever, then held it back to his forehead, frowning. He studied her face carefully, and realization finally dawned: "We never made it to France, huh?"

"No," Veronica said edgily. "Neither of you made it anywhere."

"You passed out on the eagle," Becky elaborated. "I screamed, and Balthazar called it back."

"Balthazar sent us here on the eagle, retrieved Horvath's cane, and came back here in his car, but he was so drained he collapsed just inside the door."

"We carried both of you down the stairs, and here we are, 12 hours later."

"You're running a high fever from magical exhaustion—" Veronica started to explain, and he finished,

"And Balthazar had the living daylights beat out of him." The man was turned with his back towards him, hair flopped on the pillow, bundled under a comforter. Veronica nodded sadly.

"He has a fever, as well, some broken bones, and bruises all over." She paused, sighing, "My magic is weak because of the Grimhold, so I can't really heal him."

"Shouldn't you be resting, as well, then?"

"I've rested for 1300 years, I've been told. I'm wide awake, but I'm overwhelmed." Dave regarded her carefully, now holding the rag to his own forehead. "I feel helpless."

"And there are hardly any supplies, here," Becky complained. "We need to go shopping."

"Well, I'm awake now—"

"You're not going out while you have a fever," the woman said sternly.

"No," he agreed. "But I can watch Balthazar, and Becky can show you around."

"What about money?" Becky fretted.

"Balthazar always has plenty of cash," he knew. "His wallet'll either be in his coat, or his pants. I'm sure he won't mind." Balthazar's coat, pants, vest, arm warmers, and chain medallion were over the chair Veronica was in, and she rummaged carefully through until she found it, Becky helping her locate the money, and counting it.

"Six hundred dollars," she whistled. "We'll just take five, so you can order in food if we're gone too long. We can get everything with this, including some clothes for Veronica," she enthused, though she was eyeing the woman warily as she put the wallet down on the nightstand between the beds.

"Do you think you have enough magic to alter your clothes more to something Becky's style?" Dave caught on immediately. "I mean, the dress is lovely, but it's a little—"

"Formal?" the woman smiled, eyeing the girl's jeans and boots. Her top remained a purple velvet with a neckline to show off the necklace, but she suddenly had on black jeans, boots, and a duster leather coat shorter but similar to her beloved's.

"Wow," Becky breathed, quickly removing her own jacket and purse from the back of the chair next to Dave's bed, ready to go in seconds.

"Check in every hour on your cell phone," Dave implored as Veronica kissed her sleeping man goodbye.

"Worried about evil sorcerers?" Becky smirked as they kissed casually.

"Just marginally . . . I think everyone's depleted, so now's probably the safest time."

"Remember to rest, David," Veronica commanded, palming his shoulder comfortingly before following Becky out of the room, down the hall, through the expanse, and up the stairs to the door. "Becky?"

"Yes?"

"What's a cell phone?" she wondered right before the door shut. Dave laughed. The women needed a break. They'd been caregivers since last night. Speaking of which:

"Balthazar?" Was the man really asleep? Maybe Veronica had given him something; or Becky, depending on how current or ancient a sleeping potion or painkiller they had around. "Balthazar?" he whispered again, though he wasn't sure why. The man's ears probably were the only part of him that didn't hurt. _Well, and maybe one other part, _his thoughts raced uncomfortably. It was really bothering him that the man hadn't moved an inch since he had woken up. "I really need to look at you." _Preferably naked,_ and he shook his head, trying to clear the lusty thoughts that had suddenly come out of nowhere.

Laying aside the rag, Dave got up slowly from his bed, walking dizzily over to the far side of Balthazar's, studying the man intently as he finally saw his face, stumbling down into Veronica's chair because he wasn't paying attention. The man's eyelids fluttered slightly. His face had a couple small bruises. His black shirt was wide open, bandages wrapped around his mid to lower chest, and at least partly down both arms, the white showing under the open cuffs. He wasn't exactly tan, but he wasn't that pale, either. Kind of almost _son _(sorry, sun)-kissed. _Or maybe apprentice-kissed._ Dave jumped in the chair, shocked and annoyed at himself. Maybe his fever was making him delirious. He honestly didn't feel that bad. And Balthazar had a fever, too? He reached out a hand towards the man's forehead, and it was trembling. From what? Anticipation? Some errant wavy strands of hair were in the way, so he fingered them back as his palm carefully landed on the hot skin, but he nearly jumped out of his own skin as his wrist was clamped by a ringed hand.

"Balthazar?" he cried out, now, not bothering to whisper. The fluttering blue eyes were finally open, but they were cloudy, obviously from pain, but also from something else. Dave tried to pull his wrist back, but the grip was like iron, despite the obviously weakened state of the older sorcerer.

"The last time my forehead was touched, I was possessed by Morgana," he hissed, ignoring the minor detail that he'd _done it himself._ That didn't mean he needed anyone else doing it, certainly not right now.

"I was just checking to see if you had a fever—"

"I'm badly injured, Dave," he snapped impatiently. "Of course I have a fever."

"Well, I'm not injured, and I have a fever, too," he practically whimpered. Face softening slightly, the man released the wrist suddenly, carefully palming the boy's forehead, Dave leaning his head into the hand with a strange longing.

"Magical exhaustion," he remembered now, slowly removing his hand so the boy wouldn't fall forward. "You nearly fell off the eagle." He paused, "Luckily, you hadn't gone _too_ far." He was almost smiling, now, "You really need to stop scaring Rebecca like that."

"I bet she screamed louder when you fell back off of Drake's penthouse balcony."

"I seriously doubt that," he said darkly, suddenly restless and rolling over to sit up. His ribs burned, and made him cough from the effort.

"I'll help you—"

"No, Dave," he protested as he was reached for, the boy standing. "There's nowhere to grab me that won't hurt."

_Oh, I can think of a place_, Dave thought wickedly, then visibly shuddered. "Magic—" he tried aloud.

"You'll pass out, and that won't help me," he practically grunted as he struggled upright, letting the boy move the pillows behind him. "No magic, Dave," he ordered, now. "Not until that fever goes away."

"And how long will that take?"

"It's hard to say, but any exertion doesn't help, so sit down and stop hovering." He patted the bed expectantly, but Dave blushed and shook his head, shakily moving back into the chair. The comforter was haphazard by now, the man's toned legs covered by peach fuzz and bandages, and he was wearing black silk boxers. The left ankle and foot were almost as thickly wrapped as his middle, and Dave gaped as Balthazar eyed the cloth suspiciously, almost like he had forgotten about it until now:

"Is your ankle broken?"

"Very," he admitted.

"You were running all over Battery Park with a broken ankle?"

"No."

"Then how – when did that happen?"

"After." He grinned as his apprentice looked like steam was about to come out of his ears.

"Don't get all monosyllabic on me, _Master_," he grumped now, the man snickering in return. "I want _all the details_."

"Well, I need to have some fun with this while I can, because Horvath already had his little party with it—" Balthazar started to explain.

_"Horvath?"_ Dave's face was white, now. "_Horvath broke your ankle?"_

"No, Dave, he did not break my ankle." He was annoyed already, folding his arms and leaning back against the pillows. "I am perfectly capable of breaking my own ankle." Well, at least the boy was getting some color back, now, since he was laughing despite himself.

"Balthazar, finish the story, please," he begged now.

"Then don't interrupt me again," he ordered.

"I promise." The man didn't believe him, but,

"After I got the eagle back with you and Rebecca, Merlin's ring started calling me." He eyed Dave warily, waiting for a smart-aleck remark that didn't come, so, "It couldn't come to me because the three Morganian castors were holding it back, so I had to go get it. The cops were starting to arrive, so I sent everybody here on the eagle, made the Phantom invisible, and headed for the park. The gate was on the other side, so I scaled the fence—I had done it earlier, no problem, but somehow my 'old man shoelaces'," he spat venomously, and Dave nearly jumped. "Somehow," he continued, his voice low, "the laces looped around the top of the fence, and the resistance snapped my ankle." The boy looked sick, definitely not amused, and Balthazar went on: "I disintegrated the shoelace to free myself, and fell on my face in the grass, but I just _knew_ Horvath was there, so I launched myself forward on my right foot, and landed on his cane before he could snatch it up. He was laughing so hard he almost didn't mind losing it. He'd been watching me for a while, knowing I'd eventually lead him to it."

"When I was trying to revive you, he was still out cold by the fence, but when you and Veronica reunited, he was gone," Dave explained apologetically. "I didn't mean to leave you two alone for more than a minute. I was trying to figure out where he had gone, and then Becky showed up, and I forgot everything else. I hung his hat up on the fence."

"I don't know if he had it on or not when I saw him," Balthazar said thoughtfully, scratching at his chin. "Probably the first sign that I was losing it."

"Tell me what happened next, Balthazar," he pleaded.

"He tried to keep me there long enough to end up in a confrontation with the police, but I left, made myself invisible, and drove away in the Phantom. Oh," he suddenly remembered, "he'll be stopping by in a day or two—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Dave shrieked. He already had the answer, but it couldn't hurt to check, especially now. _And he's not completely out of his clothes, yet, either._ And then his red face fell into his palms.

"Eh," Balthazar shrugged dismissively. "It's not like he doesn't know we're here, Dave. And," he added lightly, "he _is_ powerless."

"Maybe as a sorcerer, but who's to say he won't have a machine gun, or something?" The boy was almost in a full-blown panic, now. "And, did you even set wards, especially after what happened with the daggers?"

"The wards were the last conscious thing I did," he said, smirking. "You should've seen the look on Veronica's face when I tried to get her to do them. You really would've liked it, Dave. She looked at me like I was a flaming idiot."

"Seriously overworked, maybe," Dave countered thoughtfully, definitely not holding the oversight against his master. "Do you have magical exhaustion, too?"

"No; I don't think I've ever had it. It's actually really rare, except under circumstances like magical slavery."

"I could make a joke about that, but I won't."

"Good."

"Don't those itch?" the boy asked now, gesturing at the bandages, Balthazar giving him a look:

"Don't remind me." There was a pitcher of water and two glasses on the nightstand. Just to test himself, the man had the pitcher fill the glasses, which then floated over to him and the boy. "It's not Mountain Dew, but it's more helpful for your fever," he grinned, toasting the glass towards the other, Dave doing the same. "So," he announced suddenly, mischievously, feeling much clearer, "which one of us do you think is hotter?"

Well, thank goodness the boy hadn't sat on the bed, because the mouthful of water that shot from his mouth as he choked would've drenched Balthazar. As it was, the man only got a residual sprinkling as he eyed his apprentice, puzzled and slightly concerned until he got himself under control, coughing out the residue. "I won't say anything else until you've finished," he half-promised, half-commanded, Dave finally draining the glass before it was spirited back to the nightstand, his already there. "Just to clarify," he motioned, carefully picking up two oral thermometers and trying not to laugh, then turning to the boy in frustration: "Will you please sit here? You're too far away, and I'm too injured to keep enchanting things over to you." He patted the bed again, then yanked his hand away so Dave just missed sitting on it, a little too eager to please. He cleared his throat. "Just to clarify," he began again, "I'm curious as to who has the higher temperature: The physically injured sorcerer, or the magically injured sorcerer?"

"You're really bored; aren't you?" was the sudden realization as his master equaled out the starting mercury in the lamplight from the nightstand in the windowless room.

"Shush." They each held a thermometer, slipping them under their tongues at the same time, Balthazar watching the digital clock carefully.

"I did suspect that," he admitted five minutes later, Dave's temperature a full degree higher at 103.

"I actually think you're hotter, but you just have better control."

"Are we talking about the same thing?" the man asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I just mean that you can probably will your temperature lower," he answered quickly, trying not to blush again.

"I think you give me too much credit, Dave." He carefully laid the thermometers back on the nightstand, and motioned to his wallet: "Speaking of which, did our caregivers go on a shopping spree?"

"Food, supplies, and some clothes for Veronica." The boy smiled as his master nodded, "They should be gone all day."

"And this pleases you why, Dave?" he asked pointedly at the conspiratorial look in those milk chocolate eyes.

"Bonding."

"Them, or us?"

"Both."

"Both of them, or both of us?"

"All of us!" he squeaked in exasperation, before realizing the man was pulling his chain, especially since he really wanted him to pull something else, and he went red yet again. Balthazar started to chuckle, and ended up wincing, leaning back harder against the pillows and holding his side. "Did the stuff they gave you wear off?"

"They didn't give me anything, Dave; there's nothing here."

"Becky carries stuff with her—"

"I'm not taking Midol, Dave." And then they were laughing despite themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Alrighty, then. This is the conclusion of the original short story 'That's Not How It Happened', and then I get back to the stuff no one's ever seen before for the rest of it. Any other author notes will most likely be posted at the bottom. I feel more intrusive up here, but I wanted to make sure everyone knew they weren't being played. 'Caned & Disabled' would never have been written if it wasn't for the other story.

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of this, I wouldn't still be working where I'm working.**

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><p>Becky made her first call shortly thereafter, Dave telling her to text every hour after that, but to call when they were on their way back, as he didn't want to chance waking up Balthazar until he knew they were coming home. He had left the room when the phone vibrated, and stopped to visit the bathroom once it was back in his pocket. But then a strange, vibrant glow coming from the lab caught his attention, and he went to investigate. The Merlin Circle was completely ablaze in all the colors of a rainbow, and it seemed to be celebrating the return of the Dragon ring settled right smack in the middle of it. He thought of retrieving it, but Master had said no magic until he was cured. Besides, it was a very peaceful, happy scene. If felt right not to disturb it. Did Balthazar do that? He hadn't mentioned it. Too bad the atmosphere in the sickroom wasn't as pleasant.<p>

"Are you alright?" he wondered with deep concern, Balthazar having laid down again, this time flat on his back, squinting up as he was hovered over again.

"It hurts less this way," he assured, not really answering the question.

"Stop using the ring, Balthazar," the boy pleaded, palming the man's perspiring forehead, the dirty blond hair damp and darkening. The fact that the man didn't protest the touch spoke volumes. Alarming volumes.

"I know what I'm doing, Dave," he snapped out painfully.

"You're going to give yourself a fever seizure. You're not supposed to heal yourself for this very reason."

"Dave—"

"You're not letting me do magic, and I'm not letting you do it, either," he insisted, the stress of seeing his master doing something that could possibly be fatal making his temperature rise, as well, sinking to his knees as dizziness engulfed him.

"Get up here," Balthazar ordered, managing to scoot over and pull up on the boy's arm at the same time. Dave flopped down on the bed next to him, ears ringing as he barely managed to hang on to consciousness. He was on his right side, keeping all his focus on the man, who was studying him in return. The ringing had just completely stopped when he spoke again: "Now that we've both stopped trying to kill ourselves, I need you to distract me."

"How?" he asked weakly.

"Tell me about the nightmare that woke you up today—"

"I'd rather talk about the Merlin Circle," he suddenly realized, the man reacting with confusion,

"What about it?"

"It's all rainbow flames—"

"Right now?" Balthazar asked in shock.

"I would presume so." They looked at each other intently, the man pursing his lips in frustration.

"There's no way I can go out into the lab like this," he despaired. Dave was starting to smile, but he cut off the answer: "No, I don't mean in my underwear." And now the boy was blushing again, "And I don't mean out of my underwear, either."

"I-I'll be right back," Dave stammered, out of the bed before Balthazar could protest, practically sprinting from the room.

"Be careful, Dave," he ordered loudly, feeling tied to the bed. And not in a good way.

"I'm fine, Balthazar!" _But not as fine as you are_, but Dave was too far away from his master to blush, now.

"Here," Dave said out of nowhere not five minutes later, shoving his cell phone into the man's hand as he excitedly sat on the bed next to him.

"For Merlin's sake, don't bounce!" The man was wheezing in agony.

"I'm sorry, Balthazar," he apologized immediately, stopping instantly. "I'm just so jazzed by this—"

"By what?" he gasped, trying to clear himself.

"Don't you see the picture?"

"It went black, already, and it's small—"

"It's a _cell phone_!"

"Get my reading glasses out of my coat, please." _Oh, goody . . . he looks so cute in those!_

"You still have the _Grimhold _in here?" Dave gaped in shock.

"I haven't been able to hide it, yet, or deal with the cane—"

"_Horvath's cane_?"

"Of course, Horvath's cane! That's what I broke my ankle for; remember?"

"Right . . . _Geez_, Balthazar, this coat is bottomless." Dave was up to his shoulder in a pocket, and the man sighed:

"Give it to me."

"But—"

"I said 'hand it over, '" was the stern order.

"Fine," Dave spat, throwing it on him, laughing as it covered his head. Within seconds, Balthazar uncovered himself and pushed it to the side gently, already wearing the glasses:

"Now, where's that cell phone?"

"It probably vanished into your _'magic coat'_."

"Aha!" Balthazar exclaimed, lifting it up, poking some buttons, and frowning. "Uh-oh."

"What?" Dave demanded.

"I think I just erased the picture—" The boy was stalking towards him now, arms out.

"It would be easier to carry you out there," he fumed, the man shaking his head.

"No, it wouldn't, and . . . I'm kidding," he beamed, managing to look positively whimsical before carefully studying the picture. The boy was instantly on the bed, watching in fascination. "Your—Merlin's ring is in the middle," Balthazar pointed out. "The Circle's happy, so to speak, because Merlin's ring is in Merlin's Circle. That's why the flames are rainbows."

"Did you put it there?" Balthazar shook his head.

"I never got to the stairs from the entrance."

"So, where's the cane, then?"

"Good question," the man admitted.

"Are you sure it's not in the coat?" Dave asked sarcastically, now, and he rolled his eyes.

"It's not in the coat, Dave." He scowled at him, "And lucky for you. That would've hurt when you threw it on me."

"The Grimhold didn't hurt?" he asked tentatively.

"That's much lighter, and it's empty, anyway." He paused, studying the picture again. Dave was deep in thought, "Any ideas?"

"You said your last conscious action was setting the wards."

"Yes," he nodded.

"That was a completed action," Dave pointed out. "Did you _try_ to do anything else?"

"I was studying the cane; I was thinking of hiding it, and the Grimhold, but that was a losing battle." Balthazar's eyes had a faraway look as he remembered, picturing the entrance: "I leaned against the wall, dizzy and hot, and then I used the cane to sit on the landing. I was getting really weak . . . I had it in my left hand, 'cause I was worried it would conflict my ring, and I was studying it again, wondering what happened to Drake and Abigail . . . " He trailed off, and there was a long pause, eyes narrowing behind the glasses. "I dropped it," he stated finally.

"You dropped it?" Dave quizzed. "Really?"

"I was too weak; I couldn't hold it, anymore." Balthazar's voice had gone trance-like: "It rolled away, and bounced down the stairs. It was like watching a dream; I couldn't do anything about it. My eyes closed, but I could still hear it. It was still bouncing and rolling. I did hear the flames shoot up in the Circle, and there was a sucking noise . . ." Balthazar stopped, opening his eyes fully and, piercing the boy's soft, flushed gaze, barked an order at him: "Check the side of the lab farthest from the Circle . . . I think the Circle blew it across the room."

_ I'd like to blow you across the room_, Dave thought wildly as he rushed to the lab.

Sure enough, there it was, Dave examining it carefully before bringing it in to his master, who traded the cell phone for it, and also studied it, especially the base.

"Considering how much this thing has been flying around lately, it's not in too bad a shape," Balthazar concluded, not sure just how seriously he wanted to try removing the extra castors at this very moment.

"Can you rig it?" Dave wondered excitedly, and the man frowned:

"I'm more interested in getting the extra 'jewelry' off; it's still Horvath's cane."

"How many times does he have to try and kill you before you punish him?" the boy practically shrieked. Frowning, the man shoved the cane in the coat before handing the garment to Dave:

"Put it back over the chair. We're not dealing with magical stress right now, because it will make you sicker. Merlin's Circle is the happiest I've seen it in 1300 years, so let's go with it."

"I thought you wanted a distraction," Dave protested, not willing to drop the subject. The man's eyes flashed strangely, like he had just taken a picture of his defiant apprentice.

"I don't _want_ a distraction; I _need_ a distraction," Balthazar clarified. "And magical stress is not a distraction; it's my entire life, and you're not to deal with magic until your fever's gone," he concluded. "_Have I made myself perfectly clear_?" he thundered suddenly, a shaken Dave stepping back warily as he nodded.

Balthazar pulled off the glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose as Dave carefully placed them back in the coat. "Now," he finally smiled again, once more patting the bed next to him. The boy was disappointed, but he wasn't arguing over something that could possibly harm or kill him, or even make his magic disappear. The man hadn't lied to him, yet (although he was a specialist at omitted details), so he figured that he certainly wouldn't start now. Plus, right now, he was also outrageously attracted to him, and there was no way Balthazar couldn't have noticed.

Dave leaned back against the pillow from his own bed, while the man still lay on the other pillow, and they eyed each other with great interest. Balthazar's left arm folded back towards him at the elbow, the hand's fingers reaching for the boy: "Hold my hand, Dave." Now that's the kind of statement that made Dave nervous, not because of an attraction factor or anything, but because Balthazar just normally wouldn't say anything remotely like it. Did the man actually feel so bad that he needed a comforting gesture like that? No matter the reason, Dave complied, slipping his hand into the man's. The fingerless gloves were leather, now, not knit like they were before, and they looked custom-made, like they'd been sewn right on the elder sorcerer's hands. "Now, tell me about the nightmare that woke you up today."

"It was nothing," he protested, trying to convince himself.

"'_That's not how it happened'_, Dave? That's not how **what** happened?"

"You heard that?" he asked incredulously, Balthazar nodding. "You were unconscious: How could you hear that?" he demanded.

"I think all of New York City heard that, and this place _does_ echo, you know."

"I think it's just the fever; that's all," he said firmly. _Firmly_, _ha_! his head reverberated back at him.

"You're doing it again, Dave—"

"Doing what again?" he asked, really hoping he didn't know what the man meant.

"You've been flushing and leering at me every time something with a double meaning comes up- See, you're doing it again right now."

"It's nothing—"

"It's my turn to interrupt you," he peeved. "Give me a confession on one of the two counts, Dave: The leering, or the nightmare. Your choice."

"Are you sufficiently distracted, now?" Dave asked hopefully.

"Not enough," he said through gritted teeth, but only part of it was pain; the rest was annoyance at the avoidance tactics.

"Can I ask you something, first?"

"It had better be related to one of the above, Dave."

"It's—It's actually related to both," he stuttered, biting his lip.

"Go on," Balthazar prodded gently.

"When I revived you in the park, did something happen between us, to maybe change the way I feel about you? Or is it this fever?"

"Did you feel differently about me last night?" the man managed after a long pause. "Or was it just today?"

"As far as I know, it started with the nightmare." Dave scratched his head with his free hand. "I wasn't really awake long enough last night after I revived you, if you'll recall. I got on the eagle with Becky and passed out."

"So, what was the nightmare?" Balthazar persisted, blue eyes piercing.

"Instead of saying that you had a dream that I was insulting you repeatedly— Do you remember saying that?"

"It's vague, but it's there," he shrugged slightly.

"Well," Dave said shakily, "one word was different."

"Which word?"

"Insulting."

"I'm trying to be patient, Dave, but I don't need a headache on top of everything—"

"Molesting—"

"_Molesting_ replaced _insulting_?" he interrupted back, both eyebrows up.

"Y-Yeah."

"I originally said: 'I had a dream that you were insulting me, Dave, repeatedly'; is that it?"

"Basically."

"So, in your, ahem, _nightmare,_ I said, quote, 'I had a dream that you were _molesting_ me, Dave, repeatedly'?"

"Uh . . . yeah." The corners of the man's mouth were definitely up:

"And you believe molesting, in this case, to have a sexual connotation?"

"Is there any other way to define it?"

"It only matters how _you_ define it, Dave; it's your, erm, _nightmare_."

"And just why do you keep saying _nightmare_ like that?" he puzzled, the man sighing:

"Because it's your _nightmare_, but my _dream_." That particular distinction stunned the younger one:

"Oh." Boy, was this an awkward silence. Dave let go of the hand, now, pulling the pillow down and laying fully on the bed next to the man.

"So," Balthazar continued finally, "is that why you said, 'That's not how it happened'?"

"Exactly," he emphasized. "You were quoted wrong." His head was propped up by his hand, elbow resting on the bed, looking over at his master, still flat on his back, trembling hands resting on the bandages around his ribs. "Are you as okay with me molesting you as the nightmare suggests?"

"Do you still consider it a nightmare?" the man asked back. "Because if you do, any answer I give is a moot point."

"You have Veronica, and I have Becky, so that makes it a nightmare; yes."

"It makes the timing horrendous, but that doesn't make it a nightmare." Balthazar sighed heavily, now, which made his ribs catch. Grimacing, he shifted slightly, and his head spun even though he wasn't upright. Dave's left hand rested on his forehead again. "I'm not doing it; I swear."

"I know," he said gently. "If I consider it a nightmare, then why have I been leering at you all day?" he wondered.

"You consider it a nightmare because of Veronica and Becky, but that doesn't mean you're not attracted to me," he replied matter-of-factly. "Or," he added, "you also don't consider it to be 'right'. _Or_," he emphasized, adding a third point, "it's all the fever, because one, you weren't attracted to me before that, and two, sex is usually a great way to break a fever. Human bodies are fairly instinctive like that."

"What about guilt, and obsession, and all that other dark stuff?"

"Well, I certainly know about complications," Balthazar smiled wanly. "If things get out of hand, there are spells to erase memories."

Dave was bright-eyed now with hope. "I want to try and break these fevers, especially yours; it's scaring the hell out of me." He paused, moving his left hand from his master's forehead to the far side of his face. "Do you object?" he wondered. The man had been decidedly non-committal:

"It's not like I can run away, Dave." The boy shook his head, disappointed.

"Would you?"

"I can barely move, never mind leave."

"Why are you being so difficult?" he pouted, now.

"I'm not being difficult," he said simply. "_You're_ being nervous, and talkative."

"Then why do I feel I should be gagging _you?_" Balthazar smiled at that:

"Just remove it before the girls come back." Dave went wide-eyed at that. He rose to his hands and knees on the bed, still dressed in loose jeans and long-sleeve tee shirt, his left hand still resting on his master's face. He straddled him carefully, kissing him slowly, and there was no doubt that the man could move his mouth, pulling him further in with his tongue when he was sure the boy could handle it. His right hand joined the left on either side of the man's face, slowly sliding down the sides of his throat, and to the upper part of his bared chest.

Balthazar's hands reached out carefully, grasping the boy's waist under the shirt, caressing his slim sides. He was testing to see how far he could stretch before the pain yanked him back, and his movements were severely limited. Dave was trying gallantly not to lean on him, as well, managing to keep a few inches of space between them at all times, but nearly faltered when large hands unfastened his jeans and went inside to engulf his crotch.

"Easy," the man soothed as his apprentice shook under his touch. With just a hint of a smile, Dave straightened up and pulled the shirt off over his head, then hopped from the bed. His own composure faltering somewhat, the older sorcerer raised a trembling hand, flicking away perspiration from his forehead before his apprentice returned, grasping his elder's wrists and pulling the hands onto his naked torso, straddling the man once again, kissing him hungrily.

Dave was on a serious high right now, his master's hands (a mix of the fingerless leather gloves, heavy silver rings, warm smooth skin, and short, blunt fingernails) tingling every inch of his body. Nowhere near full capacity, and much too weak to cheat with magic, Balthazar's touch was still electrifying. Even when the boy touched him in the few places he wasn't bandaged, an almost palpable charge met his fingers, and his lips. And when those hands had engulfed his crotch, it was almost too much to bear. And when he finally went for the man's boxers, yanking them off in one fell swoop, the surprised sound his master had made was nothing compared to the sound Dave made when he finally saw his prize.

Balthazar tried not to laugh out loud as his apprentice froze at the sight of his throbbing, stiff manhood, a hand up to his mouth to suppress the urge, although his chest shook painfully. "Are you a virgin?" he asked as carefully as possible. He hadn't seriously thought so until now. The boy had been dominant throughout, but he had just seriously faltered: He looked terrified. "It won't hurt you," he said in all seriousness, realizing the virgin question was pointless.

"How can it not?"

"Magic, Dave," he assured him. "I can use a little where it counts." A long pause as he was regarded with a mix of skepticism and hope. "Besides," he finished, "we can't have you walking funny, or the girls will notice, for sure." And they were both laughing again.

"Come here, Dave," Master finally beckoned Apprentice with his finger, the latter approaching immediately and eagerly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Nope.**

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><p>It was long after dark when Becky and Veronica finally returned, carting many bags from the cab that drove them home. The elder woman had experienced so many new things on this long day that her head was literally spinning. They had gone food shopping last, so that the groceries wouldn't spoil before they got them put away. Becky had made the 'real' phone call less than an hour ago, but Dave hadn't picked up, which had worried the two ladies significantly. Veronica had checked Balthazar's wards when they had left and again now that they were home, and was at least relieved that they hadn't been disturbed. She opened them now, and then let Becky use the key before she magically floated all the bags fully into the living quarters of the lab before closing the wards again, the girl watching in fascination as everything put itself away.<p>

The Chinese takeout they had picked up on the way home they handled personally, anxiously approaching the sickroom. They were too tired to run, otherwise they would have. Holding their breath, they entered the room, but it wasn't much different from when they had left. The guys were sleeping in their respective beds, they had each drunk a glass of water, and used the thermometers, which were still showing the alarming readings of 102 and 103 degrees, and the girls suddenly felt incredibly guilty for having left them alone so long. And Dave had been right: Balthazar hadn't paid any attention to his wallet.

Veronica sat on the edge of her beloved's bed, where he was flat on his back, and leaned low over him, palming each side of the bandages over his ribs, and knew he'd been moving around too much: It was a miracle he hadn't punctured a lung. Her magic was stronger, but the agony of fixing any damage would make him scream at best, and spike his fever at worst, so she was very reluctant to wake him while he was peaceful.

"Dave still has a fever, but I definitely don't think it's as high," Becky announced barely above a whisper.

"Once his goes, he should be fine, but it may be another day or so." She paused, "Balthazar retrieved Horvath's cane, and David's ring is now fueling the Merlin Circle, so David can have his ring back once he's recovered."

"I thought he didn't need it, anymore," Becky puzzled.

"At this point, it's insurance. As new as a sorcerer he is, the only logical explanation for how he was able to summon so much strength would be the intensity of his feelings for Balthazar. Seeing Horvath and Morgana torture his master brought out a protective instinct. It wasn't revealed that he was the Prime Merlinean until Morgana tried to outright kill us all."

"Do you want me to wet a washcloth for him?" the girl asked now, gesturing toward the man, trying not to seem as confused as she was. First, he was Dave's uncle, and now he was his master?

"No; a fever means his body's trying to heal itself. The higher it goes, the harder he's trying, but it's definitely lower than it was earlier, as well." She looked intently at the girl. "David's fever is much different than Balthazar's. The problem with Balthazar's is that his injuries are too numerous; it could take weeks for him to heal himself, and having a fever that long can be fatal. Or," she added, "knowing Balthazar, he'd try overtly magicking himself better so as not to be a bother to anyone, which could send the fever soaring to fatal heights." She sighed, now, sadly, "Three powerful sorcerers, here, and nobody can help him. He must be going mad."

"But, you're better now, right?" Becky asked hopefully.

"I'm better, but it still won't be easy. Most of his ribs are shattered, and they're threatening to puncture his organs. It wasn't quite this bad when we left, so he's definitely been moving around some. Any healing he managed was negated by the movement." She ran a hand through her hair despairingly. "When I start to heal him, the fever will go up, and the pain will be intolerable. I don't know how much I can do before it becomes dangerous. And," she breathed out sharply, hating how complicated this sounded, "I know he'll want me to start as soon as he wakes up. He's peaceful, now, but he'll be anything but once he's awake. I've waited to see him for 1300 years, and now I basically have to torture him."

"We need to eat, and sleep," the girl said gently, reaching for one of the takeout bags. "We'll let the guys sleep." She eyed Balthazar sadly as she sat in Veronica's chair, leaning over to give the woman a reassuring hug before opening the bag. "And Dave and I'll help you if we can."

"Thank you, Rebecca."

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><p>Balthazar was awake suddenly, the pain that had caused his eyes to open making him gasp, but he held his breath as his teary eyes scanned the room. The digital clock read 2:16; of course it was the middle of the night. The nightstand lamp had been dimmed to the glow of a nightlight. Rebecca and Dave were asleep on his bed: He under the cover, she over it. The man managed a smile, but lost it as his eyes landed on Veronica sitting in her chair with the saddest look on her face as she watched him. She had stirred right after he did, so at least she was somewhat rested. And, she was showing him her magic, even as she got up to stick a thermometer in his mouth. He was relieved that it was strong enough, but knew she hated what she had to do.<p>

"No; use this," Dave was insisting suddenly, smoothing a thermometer strip above the man's eyebrows. "Mercury and glass are not what you want to use now." The room literally was alive in an instant, and it spun around mercilessly as the lamp was brightened slightly.

"Do you need anything?" Rebecca asked, gingerly removing the regular thermometer.

"Are you coherent?" Dave wondered when the girl got no answer. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he persisted.

"How many fingers am _I _holding up, Dave?" he rasped finally, the boy and Rebecca erupting into giggles as they looked down at his hands.

"No need to salute, _Master_," he said bravely.

"Do not make me laugh, Dave. I can still plasma bolt you through the wall—"

"Don't even _think_ about it!" Veronica hissed furiously, suddenly over him, not finding any humor at all in the situation. "Your ribs are in shards from whatever you did this afternoon." She watched intently as he and Dave exchanged glances.

"I sat up, and we had a few laughs," he replied hoarsely. "I laid back down when the pain got worse."

"You are not to move," she ordered, and he would've cowered if it didn't require moving. The only good thing was that her fury was making her magic stronger. The bed lifted suddenly, moved several feet away from the wall, and settled gently back down "David?"

"Yes'm?"

"Take Balthazar's ring." She watched the men's faces lose all color, and the elder's teeth were suddenly chattering, but he understood, closing his eyes in defeat. Dave, however, suddenly couldn't form a coherent thought.

"Dave, listen to me," the man implored, eyes slowly opening again. "If I become delirious from the effects of the treatment, I could, hypothetically, bring this turnaround crashing down upon us—"

"He could inadvertently destroy everything," Veronica clarified further, nodding as her beloved gave her a quizzical look, and then he slowly pulled off the ring himself. He felt like he was deflating. Dave was still speechless, practically in shock, the girl holding his arm.

"Rebecca?" She looked at the elder sorcerer in disbelief as he held out the ring to her, "I want you to keep this safe for me, just until Veronica says it's alright to give it back, 'cause I'll probably be unconscious."

"This is beautiful," she breathed, the luminescent yellow-green gem sparkling in her small hand, and then she realized something: "Should I take it away somewhere?"

"Just out of the room is sufficient," Balthazar said softly. "Veronica'll send Dave for you when we're done."

"I need to brush up on my cooking skills, anyway," she enthused, giving the man a peck on the forehead, Veronica a quick hug, and Dave a good hard slap on the back: "Snap out of it!" Not sure if that had worked, she also kissed him before leaving the room, closing the door silently.

"Dave?"

"Hmmm?"

"I need you, Dave." That really brought him back to Earth.

"I'm sorry, Balthazar," but the man shook his head slightly:

"Never mind that. I need you to help hold me down."

"Hold you down, how?"

"Get behind his head any way that's most comfortable: Sitting, kneeling, standing. That's why I moved the bed forward. Grab his wrists, and bend and cross his arms until the hands are at opposite shoulders. Hold him there; don't let him move an inch, in any direction. And watch that strip on his forehead. If his fever gets to 105, tell me, because I'll have to stop."

"You can do this, Dave," the man assured as he got into position, kneeling on a pillow, as it put him just about two feet over Balthazar's head.

"Do I have a choice?" he wondered as he grasped the wrists, bending the arms.

"No," the man answered, smirking like it was a sick joke, but he was deadly serious as he focused on Veronica: "Did you soundproof the room?"

"Of course," she answered quietly, and the boy's blood ran cold as he realized they didn't want Becky to hear Balthazar screaming.

"Don't be delicate, Dave," the man admonished, his wrists flicking under the boy's palms. His hands were clenched into fists at opposite shoulders; if he actually grasped them, he could conceivably break them. "You'll hurt me more if you don't put all your strength into this."

Veronica was ready. Balthazar was under the comforter up to his hip, and she was carefully straddling him, practically sitting on his well-covered crotch as she knelt on the bed. She was leaning forward slightly, her hands hovering over his ribs, reading their position, or lack thereof. If the situation weren't so serious, it would look quite erotic. It was quite touching, this connection between Balthazar and his apprentice, forged in only days, but it would have been more helpful if the boy wasn't so reverential. Master was fairly exasperated by now; David wasn't arguing, but he looked lost.

"Look," Blake finally said, clearly at the end of his patience. "This is going to happen whether you like it or not. It's necessary, and it's inevitable. And, while you keep putting it off, we could've been done by now." He flicked his wrist again, angrily. "Let's do this before you kill me with kindness," he spat now, eyes twinging with pain from the effort. Dave saw the resolve, and nodded shamefully. Ring or no ring, Balthazar was much stronger than him, but he had to try. The wrists trembled under his grip, but didn't flick again. In fact, the elder sorcerer's whole body seemed to be trembling, as if caught in a chill, and he tilted his head slightly at Veronica.

"What's his temperature, David?" she asked, he studying the strip. Oh, right . . . good, something to focus on besides those haunting blue eyes.

"One hundred," he answered shakily. Veronica's hands were nearly touching the man, now, and he was wincing.

"I love you, Balthazar." He swallowed hard, already suffering, but he was determined. Dave couldn't help but watch, mesmerized by the two lovers. The man was twitching painfully, and she hadn't even fully laid her hands on him yet. She knew he wanted to say something, and was waiting.

"I love you, Veronica," he finally managed, nearly lifting his head as if it would help him see her better, but then sinking back in the pillow. The couple gave each other weak, resigned smiles. He nodded, and her dark eyes went into a laser-like focus as she finally, fully pressed her palms where his ribs belonged. And then he started screaming.

* * *

><p>Becky was humming happily in the kitchen, stirring over a large steaming pot of beef stew, when she heard the door shut to the sickroom. It had been nearly an hour since Balthazar had given her his ring and had her leave the room, and she had been worried. There was a radio in the kitchen, but she didn't play it for fear she'd miss something, whatever sound she had expected to hear from the room. Maybe someone would need her, call her name, whatever. It wasn't likely, but she could hope. After all, the man she hardly knew had trusted her with his most prized possession, and she felt almost high with gratitude. She sincerely hoped he'd be able to have some stew, but realized it wasn't likely. If she had thought about it sooner, she would've made soup, instead. Maybe she would end up making both.<p>

"Becky?" Dave whimpered, and she turned instantly as he staggered into the kitchen and practically fell into her arms. His face was ghosty, and he was damp with sweat and trembling erratically.

"Dave?" she questioned back, fearing the worst.

"I don't understand what they have against hospitals," he confessed. "It's completely barbaric."

"Is he healed?" she hoped. "Can I give him back his ring, now?"

"No; his fever's too high, yet. He had a mini seizure 'cause I was too freaked out to be doing what I was supposed to. Veronica felt it coming and stopped. She's exhausted, and he's completely out of it, so I have no idea how much better he is."

"Let's sit down and talk, then." She pulled away carefully and turned back to the stove, setting the stew on simmer, hearing her boyfriend rummaging through the cabinets.

"I need a drink," he said by way of explanation.

"I didn't know you drank," she frowned, crossing her arms disapprovingly.

"I don't." He found a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shotglass. "I need Balthazar to be okay," he said deeply, shuddering after the liquor was downed. "Want a shot?"

"As long as that's all we both have," she nodded, disturbed enough that liquor actually appealed to her.

"I promise; we have enough problems without adding alcoholism to them," and she smiled at his lame humor before downing the shot and gasping at the intense heat. Speaking of which:

"Do you still have a fever?"

"It must be gone, or close to it," he realized suddenly in relief. "Otherwise, my stress over Balthazar would make me pass out, like it almost did this afternoon."

"Dave?"

"Yes?"

"What, exactly, is Balthazar to you?" The boy blanched as his afternoon; no, his entire _life_ flashed before his eyes. Luckily, Becky was too busy putting the shot glass in the dishwasher to notice.

"What do you mean?" he finally got out, leading her out into the lab and to an old couch, and they slid it in front of the Merlin Circle like it was a huge decorative fireplace.

"When you introduced me to him, you said he was your uncle, but I haven't heard you call him that since. Today, both you and Veronica referred to him as your master." She paused as they settled on the couch. It wasn't big, and they sat against the armrests on opposite sides, their legs entwining in the middle. "I need some clarification."

That really should've been simple, but it wasn't. If Dave was a direct descendant of Merlin, and Balthazar was Merlin's Apprentice, then Dave could almost be Balthazar's uncle, instead of the other way around. Especially if a Master/Apprentice relationship could be considered Parent/Child, which could make Balthazar Dave's father, so Balthazar was Dave's father, and Dave was Balthazar's uncle? So, had their relationship basically turned into incest, or at least temporary incest, like temporary insanity?

"Dave?" Becky piped up after a few minutes of watching his face contort. "I didn't think it was that complicated a question."

"It's not, but I overthink everything," he confessed, she nodding with a smile, still waiting for the real answer. "Technically, Balthazar's my master, and I'm his apprentice, but to use those terms in modern society is rather foreboden. Apprentice isn't bad, but Master makes people think all sorts of horrible things; like slavery, for instance. And I'm considered nutty enough as it is, so calling him uncle was a lot easier."

"I guess 'teacher' wouldn't work either, huh?" she wondered. "Or maybe 'tutor'?"

"Master is more than that, somewhere between 'teacher' and, let's say, 'guardian'." A pause, "'Protector'."

"I guess it _is_ kinda complicated, then," she concluded, relaxing somewhat.

"_I _don't even like calling him Master; I'd rather just call him Balthazar."

"Which is a mouthful in and of itself," she pointed out in amusement, they both chuckling.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Nada**

* * *

><p>"<em>Balthazar<em>?"

Veronica's beloved was drenched in sweat from his ordeal, as if someone (probably David) had turned a garden hose on him earlier, but she could only wish that were true. He'd been very still since the spasms from the mini-seizure (David again) had taken over his body as his temperature threatened to shoot past 106, and she was none too pleased with the boy right now. Nervous as he started becoming restless, she checked the strip again: 104.

"Don't hold that against him, love," Balthazar managed, his voice reduced to a stinging rasp from all his screaming: His throat hurt so bad, and it was as dry as the rest of him was wet. He raised his left arm as Veronica leaned in closer to him, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her against him, kissing her passionately. She was actually laughing in relief, now, breaking the kiss and focusing on the door just long enough to lock it, before turning her full attention back to her man. _This_ is how the other night should have ended.

"Rebecca's made beef stew, and her and David are asleep on an old couch in front of the Circle," she assured him, having snuck out to spy after their lovemaking. She was helping him to the bathroom, now, so that they could shower and change clothes. Balthazar's ankle was still mangled under the bandage, and he was bruised and achy, but his ribs were perfect, now, like they'd never been injured in the first place, and they were both overjoyed. Veronica had always been a beautiful healer, and he let her have her way with him again on the shower floor, the bathroom door locked, as well. She had done nothing but worry and fret over him since she'd been out of the Grimhold. Finally, finally, she _really_ felt free.

"You bought _me_ clothes?" Balthazar tilted his head suspiciously, wrapped in two large bathsheets and sitting on a chair as Veronica hooked a few hangers over the smaller pipes.

"Nothing out of your comfort zone," she assured him with a smile. She was strutting around the large subway restroom in a new purple satin bra and panties, and it was a miracle that he noticed the clothes at all. The top bathsheet was over his head, and she pulled it off, wrapping it around his shoulders, and she was attacking his ratted hair gently with a comb. "You've kept your hair like this for 1300 years?" she assumed.

"No," he chuckled. "I've done everything to it, at some point." He shook his head slightly, the comb tingling his scalp. "There were times, especially here in America, when men could be arrested for having long hair, or even long-er hair." He touched the top of his ear, "Just past here." He sighed heavily, expecting his ribs to protest, but no such thing occurred. "People are completely crazy."

"Some things never change," she smiled, facing him, kissing his nose as he laughed. "I've always loved your hair, Balthazar," her hand in it now that she was done.

"And I yours, Veronica," he replied sincerely, kissing her lips before she moved in back of him again, putting down the comb, and removing the first bathsheet completely.

"We'll discuss these later," she said, smoothing her hands across his shoulders and down his arms, obviously talking about his many scars, and scanning for areas that needed to be rebandaged.

"Please don't mummify me again, Veronica," he requested, causing her to giggle. "I'll be fine as long as you do the ankle."

"I was being cautious because you were unconscious," she defended herself, gathering the necessary gauze, tape, and scissors from the counter behind him. She pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, lifting the lower leg onto her lap as he leaned back apprehensively. "Would you like me to try healing this, now?" she offered, but he shook his head.

"You've done too much already tonight. We can work on it together in a day or so, if you don't mind. I'm rustier at healing than I should be."

"I see that," she nodded with a smirk, obviously referring to his scars. "You'll be holding a fever until we do this, though, you realize."

"Yes . . . Well, I'm sort of punishing myself," he started awkwardly, watching while she removed the original, showered wrapping. One of her eyebrows rose:

"Punishing yourself?" He nodded. "What in Merlin's name for?"

"Dave hates the pointy shoes. He always wore sneakers, which are rubber-soled. So when I first gave him his pair, and this is just days ago, you realize, he called them 'old man shoes', until he realized that was what I was wearing. He had no idea whatsoever how old I was then, and I was actually amused, but acted insulted."

"Of course," she agreed, smiling. "Forty-five doesn't seem to be old at all, especially in this day and age." She remembered Balthazar just the night before, stalking away from the car with Horvath's cane and a nasty new limp, "You were cursing the shoes last night, if you'll recall."

"I've been cursing them since the laces caught on the top of the fence and made me break my ankle," he growled, her eyes widening in shock. "Dave was right all along . . . we need newer, better shoes, maybe even boots, but definitely _without_ laces." Veronica had thrown away the old bandages, but she was having a hard time applying the fresh ones with all of this new information. "Merlin forbid Dave ever had to suffer that indignity in front of any of _his_ enemies," Balthazar spat now, his anger up from the memory and the actual pain in his ankle, the woman's touch notwithstanding. "He's clumsy enough."

"_Maxim_ was there?" she realized. Of course he was: Without any powers, he'd have used Balthazar to find the cane. It seemed so obvious, now. It wasn't quite the trap she'd been referring to then, but still . . .

"I only got to the cane first because he was laughing hysterically."

"There _are_ grass stains on those pants," she informed him, frowning. "You disintegrated the laces?"

"I had to get down fast," he nodded. "I got a mouthful of grass, launched myself across it and landed on the cane."

"What did Maxim say?" She was wrapping again, but extremely slowly, as if afraid she'd make a mistake.

"You know, that's what's so odd about it: I had _five _castors on me; I could've blown him to smithereens, but he was sure I wouldn't kill him, and he was talking about when we were teenagers." He shook his head in consternation, "I was on my back in the grass, and it felt like he was stalking me for something, and I actually got paranoid that the grass was drugged or some such, which was ridiculous, but I got up immediately." She had paused again, listening intently, "Overtly, he was trying to get me in a confrontation with the cops swarming around, and I called him on that, but I just can't get my finger on what he was really trying to accomplish."

"And of course you invited him here," she knew.

"Of course." A pause, "I told him to think about it for a day or two, first."

"That's why you were bitching about the wards when you got home, although you should've had them up from the beginning," Veronica scolded, now.

"I already paid for that error," he admitted. "I was thrilled to get Dave back again, I was in a hurry, and I got sloppy." Another pause, "Dave and I had a fight after he managed to flood the lab, and he gave up on himself, and me," he sighed. "He tossed the 'old man shoes' and left me alone. Horvath and a minion cornered me, and it ended with him launching those damn daggers of his. By some miracle, Dave came back, and stopped the daggers in mid-air. I was finished if he hadn't done that. He hasn't really left my side since," he smiled proudly. "Even when I tell him to," he concluded with a chuckle as she finally finished wrapping the ankle, kissing the bandage tenderly.

"Let's get dressed," she urged with a smile, eager for them to try on the new clothes.

The pants were a solid black, the shirt was a medium blue silk, and the armwarmers were black, although all were in almost the exact same cuts as what he usually wore, and nothing else had changed.

"Well?" Veronica asked anxiously as she helped him stand in front of the large mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. The wrapped foot was just in a black sock, but he still had the hated shoe on the other one.

"Black and blue; how appropriate," he smirked, ducking as she playfully threatened to hit him.

"I'll show you black and blue!" she found herself laughing before he caught her around the waist, pulling her close.

"It's perfect—"

"It matches your eyes."

"Ahhh," he understood now, kissing her fully, her arms wrapping around him. "And we match each other," he noted, nodding approvingly at her faded jeans, black boots, and black velvet top, again in a cut to show off her necklace. Veronica apparently wasn't having any trouble finding pointy boots without rubber, and it cheered him further, though he dreaded the idea of going shopping.

* * *

><p>"What's troubling you, my love?" Veronica wondered a long while later, he sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the cane, and especially at its extra castors.<p>

"I'm concerned about the sorcerers these castors came from." She sat down next to him, and he angled it to her so she could have a good look.

"A skull ring, and a pentagram pendant?" she frowned. "Very Morganian; yes?"

"Very. The pentagram belongs to the teen witch Abigail Williams from Salem, Massachusetts in the 1600s; she was just above you in the Grimhold. She and her cousin caused mass hysteria, and dozens of innocent people died."

"So, you trapped her?"

"Yes." A long pause, as he was still too weary to want to get into everything, and recent history was more relevant, anyway: "Horvath let her out long enough to kidnap Rebecca, but then used something called the Parasite Spell to steal her pendant, and her energy. It's unclear if it's fatal immediately, or later, or depending on the individual strength of a particular sorcerer. Horvath also used the spell on a very popular illusionist named Drake Stone, who was actually, briefly, his minion until he had no more use for him, except for the need for more power to get Morgana out of the Grimhold. Rebecca was used as the bargaining chip to get Merlin's ring away from Dave, so Horvath ultimately needed four castors to open the final doll of the Grimhold."

"And you are nuts if you're worried about either Drake or Abigail," Dave said suddenly from behind, grasping the man's shoulders supportively, and somewhat in disbelief: "Welcome back, old man."

"I do believe I've heard that before," Balthazar smiled, his hands briefly clasping over the boy's as Veronica held the cane. "Thank you, and thank Veronica for performing miracles with her healing."

"You look fantastic," Rebecca gaped in awe, standing between him and the woman, holding out his ring in the palm of her hand. "You were right, Veronica," she grinned in aside as he gratefully took the ring and slipped it on. "His eyes are beautiful with that color shirt."

"Thank you for keeping this safe for me," Balthazar said in all sincerity, ignoring the fawning and spreading the fingers on his right hand, then moving the hand side-to-side, as if making a so-so motion, the cane vibrating in Veronica's hand as everyone watched. The woman let go, in case it got hot, and it hovered slightly above the table.

"It's fighting you," she noticed.

"Yes," he knew. "Three Morganian castors. That's why I didn't try this yesterday."

"I'll help you."

"Please." The ring and pentagram were sliding up and down the cane's shaft, now, but they weren't coming off. "Damn."

"Balthazar?" Dave questioned suddenly, hopefully.

"Is his fever gone, Rebecca?"

"I believe so."

"Then hurry, Dave. I can't hold this much longer," but the boy was already back in the room with his ring on, focusing intently. Within thirty seconds, the cane shot like a bullet across the room, the jewel crashing into a stone wall, debris flying, the other two castors hovering until the three sorcerers finished concentrating, and then the jewelry dropped to the table as everyone relaxed. Balthazar rested his arms on the table, laying his head in them wearily. "Leave the cane be, Dave," he ordered, the boy halfway to it. "It'll be red hot for a while."

"Won't it be easier to destroy that way?" Veronica eyed Balthazar in surprise at those words, and he lifted his head from his arms.

"I'll be using it until we give it back to Horvath, so no, we're not destroying it."

"_What_?" the boy sputtered in disbelief.

"I still have a busted ankle—"

"We can buy you another cane—"

"No." He started to smile, now, "Besides, it matches my outfit."

"But, Balthazar—"

"_No_." Frowning, he looked at Veronica, "David thinks I'm crazy to be giving Horvath's cane back."

"But we have to," she acknowledged, he nodding.

"_Why_ do you _have to_?" was the demand, now.

"We were Merlin's apprentices together," Veronica tried to explain. "We all grew up together, fought together; we did everything together—"

"Well, not _everything_," Balthazar joked, Dave and Becky laughing as she shoved at his arm with her hand, nearly pushing him over. Becky was back at the stove, putting the finishing touches on her stew, since everyone was famished.

"I'm trying to be serious!" she scolded, though she was smiling at his smirk. "We know what he's done, David, but he was a Merlinean first. If we show enough faith in him, there's a chance he could come back to us. We have to show him that we trust him."

"Now I know why you're the perfect couple," David realized. "You're as nutty as he is."

"Dave—" but he was interrupted.

"Fine; give it back, then. Just leave me out of it." Master and Apprentice glared at each other. "I've been neglecting my classes; I have time to make up."

"I'll give you a week to get your affairs in order," the man said, resigned, but then his eyes widened when he realized what he'd said. Despite the fact that nobody noticed, Dave was incensed:

"You're still exhausted, and your ankle's still busted—"

"I know all that," he snapped, the tension palpably thick between the two. "I repeat: You have a week to get your life back on track. Get the rest of it together, because we _are_ continuing your training." The boy was livid, now:

"Will you have your _affairs_ in order by then, as well?"

"My ankle will be perfect, Horvath will have his cane back, and I'll be ready to kick your skinny little ass; yes." Dave pulled back, now, wide-eyed, "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, _old man_."

"Watch it, _Apprentice_."

"Whatever you say, _Master_." They were still staring at each other, but the tension had been broken, and their eyes were dancing in amusement. Veronica could watch those two spar forever. It reminded her of the way Balthazar and Maxim used to interact way back when. Way, _way_ back when. They actually hadn't lost the connection; now they just sparred as enemies, apparently, from what her beloved had told her, and she actually had seen some of it when he had found out about their love, before he had outright betrayed Merlin. It was a playful sort of mutual torture, but it was still nasty. But she was already certain that Balthazar and David would never stoop that low. The elder respected the boy, and the younger revered the man. David didn't understand about the cane, but then again, he didn't have to. Understanding would come in time. Veronica was sure of it.

* * *

><p>Becky's beef stew was a big hit, and the starving foursome ate every last bit of it, and she was amazed how much sorcerers could eat, especially magically spent sorcerers. Balthazar had easily eaten the most, three full large bowls, but he'd barely touched food in the days beforehand, since Dave's training had been forced to cease. Veronica and Dave each had two. She and Becky had had the Chinese takeout the day before, but she had used more magic recently, while Dave had been recovering from magical exhaustion.<p>

"You really should be hungrier than that, Dave," Balthazar pointed out. "You haven't eaten since before defeating Morgana."

"I'm still reeling from the six sandwiches you had that night on the bench." That statement made the girls eye Balthazar, who shrank back slightly:

"I said I was sorry; I had just gotten out of the Chinese Locking Urn—"

"The ten-year one?" Veronica gaped. He sighed at the prospect of another explanation, but knew he'd better get used to it:

"Dave got the ring when he was ten, but then he accidentally let Horvath out of the Grimhold, where I'd had him since 1929. Horvath was wreaking all kinds of hell, and I couldn't keep him away from Dave. He didn't know Dave was the Prime Merlinean then; he just knew he was holding the Grimhold, and he would've killed Dave to get it. Horvath and I were fighting, and it wasn't going well. I opened the Urn, and I forced Horvath into it, but in doing so, I got sucked in as well."

"The Arcana Cabana!" Becky exclaimed, suddenly eyeing her boyfriend with deep sympathy. "I'm so sorry no one believed you. That was awful."

"I do recall you being the only one who wasn't laughing, so that counts for something." Touched that he remembered that despite all the trauma of that day, she nuzzled his neck, his arm going around her.

Their 9 a.m. supper finished, since everyone had basically been up all night, the foursome literally decided to call it a day, the younger couple opting to leave the turnaround altogether, as they had more options than their elders, at least for a place to immediately crash.

"Are you sure just a week is enough, for everything you'll want to do?" the boy asked Balthazar, who smiled slyly, slightly shaking his head.

"You're not getting out of training that easily, Dave." He found himself yawning. "And I'm always busy, though I'm tempted to spend seven days just sleeping with Veronica." There was an awkward silence as three pairs of eyes landed on him, and he nearly blushed, as they all started smiling, "You know what I mean."

"Freudian slips are a sure sign of exhaustion, Balthazar," the boy pointed out. "And that's not your first one today," he snipped now, as he was nodded at.

"What was the first one?" Becky wondered, disappointed that she'd missed it. Dave's master could be wonderfully amusing, but he dismissed it:

"Never mind." And then something occurred to him: "I assume you'll be back here periodically this week to work with the Tesla coils; since you'll be back in classes?"

"Of course. I'll call—" but then he stopped short, pulling Becky along, smiling slightly. "Expect us back in an hour," and then they were gone. Shrugging, Balthazar locked the door and reset the wards, Veronica staring at him in confusion:

"What was _that_ all about?"

"He started to say that he would call me, but there are no phones, here. It's becoming an issue, so I'm guessing they went out to buy us cell phones."

"That's an excellent idea."

"Yes," he knew. "We all need to be able to keep tabs on each other, and especially Rebecca, if she's going to continue to hang out with three sorcerers." He frowned slightly, "It's not the smartest thing she could do."

"But she's completely charmed, especially by you."

"As long as it's about Dave, I'm fine with it."

"What do you mean?" Veronica asked narrowly.

"Just what I said: If she and Dave break up, she can't be in on this. It'll be frowned upon as it is."

"I would not stop being her friend if she broke up with David, Balthazar," she said emphatically. "And since when do you care if something's frowned upon?"

"Look," he replied testily. "I don't want to discuss this now. I'm really, really tired. My ankle's busted. I have no decent shoes. We can't live here indefinitely. I think I want my store back. We have to learn how to use cell phones in like an hour. I still have a fever. Maxim could show up any time, now. He's going to be bitchy, sarcastic, defiant, make eyes at you, and want his cane back, all while trying to find another way to get The Rising going again, so he can raise Morgana with all the other dead Morganians. And," he finished, "I'm seriously starting to agree with Dave about not giving the cane back."

"Go to sleep until they come back, Balthazar," she ordered now, her dander up. "You're not making a lick of sense, anymore." She gasped as he slid down the banister, already tired of limping around, even with that blasted cane that matched his outfit. "If you're not asleep in five minutes, I'm coming in to sedate you." His purposeful forward movement came to a complete stop.

"Seduce me?" he grinned optimistically, grasping the wall and looking up at her.

"That was no Freudian slip, Balthazar Blake," she warned from the catwalk, having caught the general meaning of what was, to her, a new phrase. "Sedate is _exactly_ what I meant." Frowning, he let go of the wall and hobbled into the sickroom. Veronica couldn't wait until Maxim had his cane back: She could've sworn it was somehow corrupting her beloved.

Well, it took an hour and a half, but then the young couple was back, Veronica eagerly letting them in before resetting the wards, leading them to the sickroom, where Balthazar was fast asleep. She sat on the bed, as they pulled up the two chairs, anxious to show the elder couple the brand new cell phones they had bought them.

"I made him go to sleep, because he was so tired he started talking nonsense," the woman explained. "He might be able to absorb some of our conversation; if not, I'll explain it to him later." Also, there were detailed manuals, since the man loved to read, and was obviously a quick study.

There were two flip phones, a purple one for Veronica, and a black one for Balthazar. Becky considered blue, but he was too mysterious for that, so Dave had shot the idea down: It was actually the girls that wanted him in blue; they kept wanting to match his eye color. The boy was suddenly really glad his eyes were a nothing-special brown; he thought they were being silly. Besides, if they really wanted specifics, the man's eyes did look green from time to time; plus, his magical aura was green. And his ring, of course. But, he could wait until their little obsession really annoyed him to confuse them completely. And, did he really know more details about Balthazar than they? He'd been sure he wasn't attracted to the man anymore, but now he wondered if he was just kidding himself. But, nomatter: Dave's infatuation with Becky was still holding nicely, and she seemed just as tuned in to him, now. Their relationship definitely hadn't been spoiled by the misstep. And Balthazar seemed as close to Veronica as ever, as well. Good. Very good. Very, very good. But back to the purple and black flip phones:

The speed dials were as follows: **1 **for voicemail, **2** for each other, **3** for Becky, and **4 **for Dave. They weren't overtly fancy or techy, but they did have cameras and texting. They showed Veronica the importance of bars and volume control, how to make a regular call, and how to answer and hang up, which could be done without closing the flip. And don't forget about setting to vibrate if you don't want anyone else to hear the ringing. And keep them charged. And preferably on, and close by, at all times. No need to worry anyone unnecessarily, because obviously this was a group of natural worriers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Uh-uh**

* * *

><p><em>"Horvath<em>!" Balthazar would know that knock, anywhere, and he was instantly awake, and up. And down, "_Shit_!"

Veronica was awake, now, as well. She'd let the kids out, reset the wards, superficially hid the Morganian pendant and ring, put the phones in their chargers, and gone to sleep on the other bed. The knocking hadn't stirred her, but Balthazar falling to the floor and hitting his back on the bedframe had, having been out thoroughly and long enough to forget about his ankle.

"_Maxim_?" she questioned shakily, helping him up, he looking at her in annoyance:

"I was a fool for inviting him here." She started to search his eyes as he brushed himself off, wondering what manner of dreams he had had to make him say that.

"You're still talking nonsense," was her obvious conclusion. "I'll give him the cane," but he wasn't letting it go, his knuckles white.

"I will give it to him, only because you think it's turning me into a lunatic," he spat, and she recoiled.

"You're not rested enough to deal with him—"

"_You_ invited _me_, Balthazar!" Horvath roared from behind the door. "Now you two stop _fornicating_, put your clothes on, and let me in. I haven't got all day."

"Wanna bet?" the blond sneered, Horvath jumping as the door flew wide open.

"Hello, Maxim," Veronica purred, her arms wrapped around Balthazar, whose left arm was draped lazily around her shoulder, his blue silk shirt half-unbuttoned, right hand leaning on the prized cane. "You were saying?"

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything—"

"Of course you did," the rumpled blond smiled now. "But, never mind that. I _did_ invite you."

"You did."

"Come on in, Maxim." The couple turned to go down the stairs, and the man followed, his nose wrinkling: They even smelled like sex. They led him to a little kitchen filled with earthy woods. Veronica looked perfect, as always, even with that damned necklace. She helped Balthazar sit, and motioned for their former friend to sit across the table from him, which he did.

"Any particular refreshment you're interested in, Maxim?" she asked politely.

"Alcohol, if you please." She pulled out a nearly full bottle of Jack Daniels, and her and Balthazar exchanged a look: Must've been Dave. Probably the other night.

"Shots?"

"Fine." She laid three glasses on the table and filled them before setting the bottle down by her lover's left hand, taking a seat to his left and Maxim's right at the other edge. She took the first shot as they watched her, set the glass down, and smiled:

"Food?"

"No, thank you, Veronica." With that, Balthazar was next, the man watching him as hair invaded his eyes. The blond always looked like he worked harder during lovemaking; he was always somewhat disheveled. Horvath finally took his shot, collected himself, and poured the next set, raising a toast, "Congratulations on your engagement." The glasses all clinked together, and it was probably a miracle that none of them broke.

"We miss you, Maxim," Veronica said as earnestly as possible as Balthazar poured the next round, and it took all his control not to spill anything, especially since he wasn't using his dominant hand at all, it guarding the cane warily, but twirling it almost absentmindedly.

"I'm a third wheel," he said flatly. The betrothal necklace sealed that deal, and for the first time the woman felt guilty for having it on. "Just give me the cane back, and I'll be on my way."

"Until?"

"Until _what_, Balthazar?" Veronica downed the first of this set, knowing it was starting.

"That's what I'm asking you, Maxim."

"Stop taunting me with the cane," he ordered, now, his voice up.

"I'm sorry." He stopped twirling and pulled it under the table, holding it on his lap. "But you're not answering the question," he persisted, drinking next.

"You want to know my plans?"

"Why not?" the blond shrugged. "They're not nefarious; are they?"

"Are you happy?"

"Answer the question, Maxim."

"What can we do to make you come back to us?" Veronica interjected. Balthazar rolled his eyes, and Horvath finally drank his next share, steeling himself.

"Take me into your bed."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning exactly what you think it does, Balthazar." He paused, leaning forward, smiling as the woman hiccupped. "We've done everything else together."

"You can't be serious, Maxim," Veronica managed, pouring another set.

"I'm dead serious—"

"Dead drunk, maybe," she snapped, pulling the bottle and standing, sealing the liquor and putting it away. Balthazar had already downed all three shots, and Veronica snatched the glasses up, throwing them across the room, where they shattered and splintered against a stone wall. "Apologize," she insisted.

"You asked me, and I told you," he snarled, refusing to back down. "Or are you just afraid you'll prefer me to him?" With that, Veronica started laughing. And then she was laughing so hard she started hiccupping again. And then she was laughing and hiccupping, and doubling over, tears streaming down her face. She sounded completely hysterical, and Balthazar finally snapped out of his shock and alcohol haze, and stumbled to his feet from the chair, holding the cane out to a mortified Horvath, who was also standing, now, rather panicked.

"Here," he insisted, turning venomous as the man hesitated.

"Veronica," he motioned in alarm. The woman had collapsed on the floor, cackling madly.

"You don't give a shit about Veronica." He let that sink in. "Take the goddamn cane, get the fuck out of here, and don't ever bother us again." The cane was snatched from his hand, the jewel immediately pointed in his face.

"This isn't over, Balthazar," Horvath hissed, threat all over his tone.

"Yes it is, Maxim," he stated, refusing to back down or be intimidated. "Now get out." The man backed all the way out of the turnaround as the two glared at each other, the Tesla coils sparking slightly from the tension in the lab. Once Horvath had finally exited, Balthazar locked the door and set the wards again, Veronica's incoherent madness echoing in his ears.

"It's alright, beloved," he whispered soothingly, laying on the floor with her, wrapping himself around her. "I won't let him near you." She calmed so fast at his touch that it startled him, and she pressed herself against him, trying to melt away into him. Veronica was just crying now, quiet sobs, no more hiccupping or laughing.

"And I've been convinced that you've been going mad," she said softly, almost ashamed, managing to look at him once he'd brushed back all the hair that had obscured her face.

"Oh, I went mad long ago," he confessed easily, his lips to hers. "You're just not used to it, yet, so you think I'm still getting there." And now she giggled in understanding, and he smiled in relief, tears touching his eyes: "That's my Veronica; that's my beautiful girl."

* * *

><p><em>What the hell is that<em>? Balthazar wondered hours later, startled from sleep back in the sickroom, he and Veronica nakedly entangled under the comforter on the twin bed. And then he noticed the two cell phones in chargers on the nightstand, reaching out for the black one, flipping it open:

"Hello?"

"How do you like your new cell phone?" Dave asked expectantly, surprised at the hesitation, the man holding it at a distance to look it over in the dim light.

"So far, so good, Dave," he finally answered, grinning and shaking his head.

"You had no idea; right?" the boy figured.

"I did know you went to get them, but I ended up sleeping 'til Horvath showed up, and then . . . It just hasn't been a priority."

"Did you and Veronica have sex again?"

"It wasn't that simple, Dave." A very awkward pause, "I mean, the meeting with Horvath didn't go well."

"No kidding?" was the sarcastic reply.

"No, I am not kidding. Veronica's taking it very badly, so I would appreciate you holding back on the snide remarks. She keeps holding on to a hope that I no longer have. I thought Horvath was very cruel."

"What do you mean?"

"What time is it?" he suddenly wondered, wincing at the sudden pain in his head, closing his eyes, keeping his voice low.

"Only about 7:30 in the evening. I'm meeting Becky at eight."

"I caution you; Horvath _does_ have his cane back."

"Thanks for the warning," he snipped again.

"I mean it, Dave; don't start—"

"Sorry."

"And he might be a bit hungover, as well—"

"Did you honestly think alcohol was going to help the situation?" the boy practically shrieked, the tone searing through his skull:

"If you raise your voice to me again, I'm hanging up."

"And I bet you drank more than everybody else; am I right?"

"We were even on the shots until—and do _not _shriek, David—until Horvath tried to worm his way into our bed."

"Thanks for the warning," the boy managed after a long pause, obviously disgusted. "Was it at least just for a one-time thing?" he asked, now. "'Cause you seem pretty open to—"

"I didn't get that impression, and Veronica certainly didn't," he interrupted, not needing to be reminded of past indiscretions right now.

"He wanted a permanent orgy?" and the man tried not to laugh, which was actually pretty easy.

"I think the general idea was to make Veronica aware that he was a better lover than I, so that I'd end up getting thrown out of my own bed because of my glaring inadequacies." Dave was snickering, now:

"Well, from personal experience—"

"There's no need to go into this, Dave—"

"This is no time to be modest, Balthazar," but then he suddenly stopped, considering. "Wait a minute: He actually had the _nerve_ to say this to Veronica?"

"Of course. 'Tis the beauty of the mind of Horvath," he noted with utter revulsion.

"And she reacted badly?"

"I seriously thought she had lost her mind; she dissolved into complete hysterics. At first, she was laughing, but . . . I've never seen her lose it like that, before, _ever_." He sighed heavily, now. "She poured the last three shots right before he made his 'request', and she demanded he apologize. I ended up drinking all three, and she threw the glasses against the wall. I'm not sure what that was a reaction to: My drinking, or him. I gave him the cane, and threw him out. Of course, he threatened me before he left."

"Of course." A long pause, "I'm really sorry, Balthazar, about what happened."

"Don't be," he assured. "We'll be fine." He thought a moment, "And I wanted to tell you that I think you were right about not giving the cane back; I only gave it back because Veronica thought it was making me crazy."

"Thanks for that, anyway, Balthazar. It's nice to be right once in a while."

"You're welcome."

"What would Horvath do if you didn't give it back?"

"He'd have to find someone who could cast another castor for him. It's difficult, but not impossible."

"What?" Dave joked. "No 'Castors 'R' Us'?"

"No, Dave," Balthazar smiled, and then checked the clock: "You better hurry if you're going to make your date with Rebecca."

"Gotcha," he realized. "Goodnight, Balthazar."

"Goodnight, Dave . . . And good luck on your date." He closed the phone and put it back in the charger. He couldn't study it now, because he was laying naked with Veronica, and his reading glasses were nowhere near here. She hadn't stirred once during the conversation, and he kissed her temple and quickly fell back to sleep.

The next morning was very strange, as Veronica was still torn between her fond memories of Horvath from literally ages ago, and her horror at what he'd seemed to turn into, almost overnight, by her perspective. She'd gone into the Grimhold immediately after his outright betrayal of Merlin, despite the fact that the threesome had splintered into two groups some time before that due to the couple's apparent betrayal of him. Veronica had never thought she had led Maxim on, but obviously she should have been more forceful in her rejection of him a lot sooner. She cared for him tremendously, and she hadn't wanted to hurt him, or ruin the relationship the three had. It was a ridiculous notion, she knew now, because she had wanted things to stay the same, but had fallen deeply in love with Balthazar. Why should Maxim stay the same, when nothing else had? She was such a fool for expecting such a thing.

But Balthazar had an entirely different perspective, having fought Horvath in one way or another for the last 1300 years. About the Grimhold, about Morgana, but mostly about Veronica. And, now that he finally, finally had her back, Horvath wanted to separate them, again. Still thinking he had a chance with her. After that little proposition yesterday, it was amazing that Balthazar hadn't needed a straitjacket. But he was bored of being tortured by Horvath, despite the fact that the man could always seem to pull one more surprise out of his hat, something that managed to throw him, and now them, completely off balance. The couple were like that, now, the world tilted madly in front of them.

"I don't like living here, Balthazar," she complained after their shower, wrapping his foot and ankle, again, while he watched. Veronica was too fragile right now for them to even consider healing it, yet. He could limp around, without _that_ cane, or _any_ cane, for that matter, for another day or so. "I went from the dark, windowless Grimhold to this dark, windowless subway turnaround."

"I miss the sun, too," he agreed. "My old store, the Arcana Cabana, had beautiful old skylights." She looked at him, amused by the 'old store' reference. "I lost it when I went into that Urn for ten years, but I need to check the legalities and see if I can reclaim it somehow."

"Is that what you want to do today?" she wondered.

"Actually, yes," he enthused. "But that would bore you," he figured.

"Don't worry about 'boring' me, Balthazar," she informed him. "My friend Rebecca taught me a lot the other day, and I want to run some errands, alone, as well."

"Very well," he sighed, noting the 'friend' reference. "I'll look into real estate in the area, as well. The trouble with the Arcana Cabana is that it's not in the best area, so I may end up just dropping that idea altogether, though at the very least I could screw with the people who turned it into a cell phone store," he smiled conspiratorially. But now he frowned, "I really hope that's not where Dave and Rebecca got our phones."

"Will you show me this store?" she requested, her curiosity up.

"Soon," he promised. "But it's not near as charming as when I had it. Maybe I could dredge up some pictures, or even an actual memory later, if I'm feeling ambitious enough."

"That would be fun," she enthused. "And you're right, of course: All the charm is bound to be gone without you for ten years."

"Flatterer," he teased, kissing her before they got dressed. More new clothes, but nearly identical were the pants and armwarmers, and the silk shirt was a lighter blue, which was actually closer to his eye color than the medium blue had been. Veronica also had on light blue: The faded jeans and velvet top, and of course the necklace, her castor ring, her pearl ring, and her pearl earrings, and the black boots and duster coat she'd conjured the other day.

Balthazar made her a light breakfast of scrambled eggs, strawberries, and coffee, but she made him share a little, despite the fact that he wasn't hungry. She knew it was mostly due to Horvath from the day before, and they both got a bit snippy again before calming. Then he made sure she had her new cell phone, helped her call a cab ("I want to buy you a car of your own"), waited with her outside for said transport, and then went back inside once they had kissed goodbye. He massaged his temples, and went to make a list, still off-kilter, of what he wanted to do this day, which seemed to be getting longer by the minute: Sorcerers, especially _his_ Veronica, should not be forced to take cabs. It seemed ridiculous. It was one thing if you were out of town, quite another if you were living somewhere. She hadn't expressed displeasure over anything but the turnaround, though, so that was a good sign. Real estate was definitely the priority. Or the Arcana Cabana. Or maybe buying a computer, because then he wouldn't need real estate magazines; and could just look at listings online. He was quickly giving himself a headache, and claustrophobia. He went for his trenchcoat, throwing the Grimhold in a drawer in frustration, not really needing to be heading anywhere with that in his coat. And what about the other Morganian castors? Veronica had hastily thrown them in a drawer, as well. What about Drake and Abigail? Shouldn't they be the priority? Maybe he would just go to the penthouse first, and see what's up. He couldn't bear the thought that they might be dying because he just couldn't get around to being bothered. He'd leave the rings, here, though. If they weren't already dead, the time it'd take to fetch the rings certainly wouldn't kill them. And the rings weren't necessary, anyway, not to live, in any case. It was that spell, the Parasite Spell, not the lack of rings. Balthazar wanted a Morganian Encantus, just for reference. At least Drake's should be at his penthouse. He went into the kitchen cabinet, opened the bottle of Jack Daniels, and took a hefty swig. Now he definitely had a headache, and he really needed to get the hell out of here, wiping his lips and putting the bottle away. His list was a complete jumble, and he threw it away in disgust. _Sorry, Veronica,_ _I have to go to the penthouse. _He locked the turnaround, reset the wards, and limped to the Phantom, pulling the door open. And then he _really_ got a headache.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Nix.**

* * *

><p>The heavy blue jewel at the top of a particular cane slammed into the right side of his head, just above his ear, and he was falling instantly, keeping his bearings up enough to turn as he landed on the leather bench seat. A plasma bolt was forming, but Horvath was too close and nailed his right hand with one of his own, then slammed the jewel onto his injured left ankle. The man yanked the door shut, pointing the glowing jewel at Balthazar's chest as he cowered against the other door.<p>

"Drive this car," he ordered.

"All this drama, and all you want is a chauffer?" He was watching the cane warily, trying to focus on something besides his re-mangled ankle, his useless right hand, and the blood oozing from what felt like a hole in his head.

"Oh, no, Balthazar," he shook his head ominously. "I'm just getting started with you."

"Really." It wasn't exactly a question.

"After 1300 years bickering about Veronica, I think it's time to take our relationship to the next level; don't you?" but he jumped as Balthazar fell backwards out of the car, the passenger door suddenly open. It wasn't exactly an escape attempt, the blond man's head hitting the blacktop with stunning force, but there was a strategy to it, not that Horvath noticed. Furious, he hauled the other man up by his collars and threw him into the driver's side door. "Quit stalling and drive."

"Don't know much about cars, do you, Maxim?" he wondered softly, staring at the blurred images of the darker man until there was only one of him. "It's not an automatic, so I need both feet to drive, and I can't enchant it without the use of my right hand." Gritting his teeth in frustration, Horvath lifted his cane, the jewel glowing again. Balthazar's hands were instantly glued to the steering wheel as he was yanked in front of it, and the Phantom started up, though it obviously didn't recognize the magic, the engine whining annoyingly. It only started at all because Blake was in it. The 1935 model was built before seatbelts, but Horvath conjured one that tightened uncomfortably low on the man's hips; over his clothes, but under his coat.

"Your right foot can still work the gas and brake, and your left hand is fine," the man grumped. "If you try anything stupid, you're trapped, Balthazar, not me." He paused to let that sink in. "I'm not telling you this again: _**Drive**_."

Balthazar didn't ask where they were going; it really didn't matter, since he didn't think he was actually steering in the first place, and he would surely find out soon enough. Actually, the farther the better: Veronica and hopefully Dave would have a better chance of tracking him, then, once she realized something was amiss. Horvath barely glanced at the street; he was watching the other man intensely.

"I'm starting a penthouse mausoleum," he announced out of nowhere.

"Oh?" he realized, almost pleasantly surprised. Were they really going to Drake's penthouse?

"Yes," Horvath emphasized as the car entered a parking garage. "There's a private elevator over on the other side." A pause, "I already have two bodies, and I'll have a third very soon." He grinned evilly, and Balthazar deflated somewhat: So, Drake and Abigail _were_ dead, after all, and he was going to be next. _Mausoleum; right._ "Park right next to the double elevators."

"They both go up to the penthouse?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you'll have _four_ bodies," Balthazar said as he floored the gas pedal. _Sorry, baby, _he apologized as the Phantom clipped two parked cars and slammed through the elevator doors, the front end crumpling inward, the windshield shattering. People in the parking garage were sprinting towards the carnage, trying to come to the rescue, but there was nobody in the crumpled Rolls Royce, the two sorcerers having disappeared. Of course, there _was_ blood in the car, but not from this accident.

* * *

><p>"You've turned into a complete lunatic, Balthazar," Horvath spat in exasperation, holding the injured but grinning blond to the wall of the other elevator with his cane, the handrail twisting around the wrists, pulling arms uncomfortably down away from his sides. "I can't believe you did that to your own car." He had transported them out a second before impact, and it had drained him more than watching the maniacal look on the other's face. He pulled the cane, now, the other relaxing slightly, leaning his aching head back against the wall and closing his eyes. And then he dropped to the elevator floor as his wrists released, landing in a heap. "You're tired, Balthazar," he said, almost tenderly. "Go to sleep."<p>

"Not a chance," he refused, immediately struggling to get up as Horvath watched with a combination of amusement and annoyance. "What I'm tired of you haven't a clue."

"Why haven't you healed that ankle, Balthazar?"

"You can't heel an ankle, Maxim," he evaded with a sarcastically toothy grin.

"Funny. Now answer the question."

"It's been healing, until a little while ago, and I've had the fever to prove it."

"Between you, Veronica, and David—" the captor began.

"It's not a priority, if you must know."

"Punishing yourself, again?"

"Maybe Veronica secretly likes men with canes," he shot back, looking around in frustration as the other's eyes widened: "This is the slowest elevator in the world."

"You always were the master at self-sacrifice; Merlin favored you because of it." Horvath was sniggering now, and the blond stopped trying to get up, eyeing him, hands on the floor, half-sitting, half-kneeling. "I've always found it pathetic."

"And you are the master at holding a grudge," he spat back.

"The Morganian Encantus celebrates your betrayal, Balthazar." Now it was _his _turn to smile overtly wide at his suddenly confused captive. "I'm sure the Merlinean one doesn't even mention it, being that you practically _wrote_ the damn thing."

"What—"

"You're not supposed to _fuck_ your apprentice, Balthazar, nomatter how badly he wanted you to." Horvath had seen him using the right hand again while trying to get up, and then leaning on it. He knew the other's temper would flare up into a plasma bolt at his mention of what the other thought of as _secret _knowledge. So he was ready, pointing the glowing cane at the hand again, his aim dead on, malevolent energy coursing into the other's ring, up the arm, and out of his shoulder. If the ring hadn't been a diamond, it would have shattered. Balthazar screeched in agony as he fell back down to the floor, and this time, he didn't try to get back up. And then the elevator doors opened just outside the penthouse.

* * *

><p>"Let's remove this pesky coat; shall we?" Balthazar was sprawled on his stomach on the elevator floor. Whether he was conscious or not, Horvath didn't really care and, either way, he didn't protest as his captor gathered the collar in his fist, slowly pulling over and down, practically, harshly, peeling it off of him. "This hideous thing weighs almost as much as you do." He stepped into the short hallway, throwing the coat over a freestanding rack: "Not that you'll be needing it again . . . You'll be leaving in a body bag like the other two."<p>

"Then your definition of mausoleum is wrong." Balthazar lifted his head slightly, watching Horvath open the main door, and the odor of death, though subtle, assaulted his nostrils. "But you definitely got the smell right." He recoiled as the other man stalked towards him.

"Don't worry, Balthazar," Horvath mock-soothed, hauling the injured man off the floor as his teeth gritted. He draped the useless right arm around his neck, grasping the wrist with his own right hand, his left around the other's waist, much tighter than it needed to be. "I'm not going to kill you right away." The blond found his face buried in Horvath's tweed coat as he was forced along through the large apartment. And no, he had finally noticed, the man hadn't worn his hat since Dave had hung it on the fence.

* * *

><p>Veronica had taken a cab to the store to get some more supplies, and a few bottles of wine. Balthazar was leaving shortly after her, to start what he said was an attempt to reclaim a mystical store he had owned ten years back, called the Arcana Cabana. It would be a lot of monotonous paperwork, and he hadn't wanted to bore her. And, neither of them was in the best of moods after Horvath's hideous request to share their bed, an obviously thinly veiled attempt to force Balthazar out of it. It would have been much easier if Veronica had loved the dark haired man instead of the blond, but she just didn't, and never could. Balthazar had always had plenty of demons, but he rarely showed that side of himself. And he'd always been beautiful, and kind, and just, and smart, and strong, and funny. Maxim had always been dark; an excellent fighter, and fair, but was also selfish. Balthazar was the light to Maxim's dark, and the man shone like the sun to her, with those brilliant blue eyes. Veronica had nearly lost her bloody mind yesterday, so Balthazar had given the cane back, alone, telling Horvath to never bother them again, completely fed up with him and his antics, and very tired of Maxim and his ego. He'd lived too long, gone through way too much, and was utterly bored of Maxim's selfishness.<p>

"I don't care if I never see him again, Veronica."

"But, we all grew up together; we're all friends; we're meant to be together, " she'd implored at breakfast, mainly her breakfast, as he'd had no appetite, inspired by the new day and trying, one last time, to be forgiving and generous. But her man was having none of it, having just seen his beloved pushed to the breaking point:

"We were friends for 200 years. Maxim and I have been sparring for _1300_ years; you _can't_ understand how sick of him I am." That was true; she couldn't understand that.

"I'm going to go to the store, and pick us up some wine and steaks, and a few other things," she said delicately, and he definitely liked that idea, pulling her into an embrace before she left.

So Veronica wasn't surprised at all when she arrived back at the turnaround to find the Phantom still gone. And then she saw the blood puddle on the street where the car had been. Stunned, she dropped the two bags she'd been carrying, and all three wine bottles shattered on impact, but she didn't even notice them. She felt horribly cold, hands clutching opposite arms as she stared at the blood, tears stinging her eyes. She pulled out her brand new cell phone, struggling to open it with trembling hands, and she stared at it a long time before pressing **2**, Balthazar's speed dial. She could hear it ringing from inside the turnaround, and it went to voicemail as she silently cursed, knowing he'd forgotten to take it with him, and she hung it up. It's not like Maxim would have let him answer it, anyway, but he might have, if only to torture them. As usual. As it was, he was doing a terrific job. This was two days in a row, now, and Veronica had no doubt that she _would_ lose her mind if this kept up. Desperate now, she stared at the keypad again, trying to concentrate. Studying it carefully, she finally pressed **4**, the speed dial for Dave, because "D" was the fourth letter of the alphabet. He'd been awfully cheeky when he'd told her that, but at least it helped her remember, even in the state she was now in.

"Hi, Veronica," he immediately answered, never mind how he knew it was her. Technology.

"David?" Her voice was so weak and stressed that alarm bells immediately went off. "I think Maxim's kidnapped Balthazar."

"Where are you?" David demanded.

"At the lab turnaround."

"I'll be right there." Figures: He finally makes a class, and then has to leave in the middle of it!

* * *

><p>"I like this bedroom; it doesn't have any pictures of Drake on the walls," Horvath said with delight as they entered the lush space, the door slamming and locking behind them.<p>

"And I don't smell any bodies, here," Balthazar added with relief, somewhat pulled out of his stupor. Walking through the penthouse had not been kind to his ankle. They were standing just inside the shiny, black-walled room, complete with mirrored ceiling and a king-size, black iron four-poster bed. In response to his observation Horvath's left hand went from squeezing his waist to grabbing a handful of his wavy, dirty blond hair, pulling it to the nose, inhaling deeply.

"It's obvious Veronica's back; you haven't smelled this good in a millennia."

"Are you referring to the blood?" A good portion of his hair by the right ear was fairly saturated with it.

"No, but even that would be an improvement over what you've been smelling like."

"I'm flattered you've noticed, Maxim—"

"And why are you still wearing blasted armwarmers?"

"I think it's still February," he snipped back, somewhat confused that he honestly didn't know. He had two head wounds: A lump on the back from his strategic 'fall' from the Phantom, and the dent on the side from the cane, or was it a hole? It's not like he'd had a chance to examine it. There was a slight chance his skull was fractured, but nothing had been oozing out of his ear. Yet.

"You have no fashion sense at all," Horvath spat, supporting him under his arms, peeling off the armwarmers and tossing them into the blazing fireplace before shoving him onto the bed, practically stalking him. "Good riddance. Those made you look like a BlackJack dealer in Las Vegas." Balthazar scrambled backwards on top of the red satin comforter, using his good hand and foot, until he was sitting up against the headboard.

"If I didn't know better, Maxim, I'd think you were trying to undress me." Horvath's face went red, but he couldn't figure out what the emotion was, until the bedposts attacked him. His left hand was snared around the wrist, and it coiled and pulled until he was almost lifted from the bed, the arm suspended. The post on his right twisted around his waist until he was sure his ribs would break. Again. The two on the bottom wound around his legs up to the tops of his thighs, pulling them further apart than was comfortable, or natural. It was bad enough when the posts had changed forms to slither over him like snakes, but then they went back to being iron, hard and unyielding. The force against his skin, and especially his bones, was excruciating.

"You were saying, Balthazar?" the man smiled from his right as he struggled to adjust to the pressure, barely able to shift, and almost completely unable to move.

"An overcoat and spats, Maxim?" he breathed, turning his head to face the man, dizzy from the stress. "Spats went out of fashion in the 1920s." Horvath sat on the bed, now, leaning closer to his prisoner.

"Still the jokester, eh, Balthazar? I'll remove the spats and coat in a minute, if it would please you." The bright eyes widened in alarm as a hand wound its way into his hair again. Now he couldn't move his head, either.

"Maxim—" But the man interrupted, his voice surprisingly soft:

"I've been waiting to do this for 1300—no, 1500 years." And then Maxim Horvath kissed Balthazar Blake.

* * *

><p>Veronica hadn't moved since she had called David, standing in the exact spot where the Phantom had been parked, the street wet from the alcohol.<p>

"What the hell's the matter with that woman?" the cab driver barked, yanking Stutler from his worried thoughts as the car stopped.

"She's in shock," the young man realized instantly, shoving a $20 bill into the guy's hand. "Keep the change." The door slammed, and the driver left immediately. "Veronica—" But she was already pointing to the blood on the street:

"Balthazar." For a second, he almost agreed with the cab driver. Plus, she smelled like a winery, but then he saw the grocery bags, and immediately understood, trying not to say something stupid.

"You think it was Horvath?" he wondered, squatting down to the blood, trying to examine it.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Well, something had to. Certainly, giving Horvath back his cane hadn't, at least not to him. He'd grown up in modern times, where people turned on a dime. His master had finally started to waver about returning it, but Veronica had insisted, and Balthazar seemed to almost always defer to his beloved. Dave should have destroyed it behind their backs, if it was even possible to destroy it. That wouldn't have made him a turncoat, as they so seemed to think; it would've protected them; _him_, his _master_.

"Did you try reading it for a memory?"

"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face, furious at herself. The guilt was killing her, already, but there was always hope, at least until they had proof that there was no hope. Dave focused his ring on the small pool of crimson.

"It's a head wound, caused by the cane," he fumed, unable to hide his disgust as she gasped. "It couldn't have been that bad," he concluded, standing, looking gently at the distraught woman. "He let himself fall back out of the car to leave us this clue."

"Which means he now has _two_ head wounds," she said as the realization hit them both. "Do you have any idea where Maxim might be?" she paused while he regarded. "I'm not sensing any more blood around here. Balthazar will leave a trail, if at all possible—"

"_A trail of his own blood_?" Veronica was better, trying valiantly to focus, and now Dave was starting to lose it.

"If that's all he has to work with; yes."

"I only know one place Horvath might be, so I think it's a long shot, but it'll be interesting, if nothing else—"

"I don't need interesting," she snapped suddenly, calling a cab. "I need Balthazar." She paused in the middle of dialing, blushing, having just realized what she had said. Dave had originally ignored her mistake, having set her off in the first place by saying something incredibly insensitive: '_Well, even if Horvath is off killing Balthazar someplace other than where I think they're at, at least this place'll be interesting_.'

"I don't think _Balthazar_ and _interesting_ are mutually exclusive," he finally said, squatting back down to retrieve the salvageable groceries as Veronica watched him. "In fact, he's easily the most interesting person I've ever met."

"Easily," she agreed, smiling, finally finishing calling that cab. They could've transported, but they were saving their energy for more important things. The street was cleaned up before the vehicle arrived.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I hope ya'll are still with me (I'm from New Jersey, USA, by the way. Anything remotely Southern is me channeling my OC). Reviews are welcome, whatever kind, even anonymous; I have thick skin, been writing for 30 years, and I know I'm a nut. I've vowed in my profile to review every _Sorcerer's Apprentice (2010) _story on here, so I'll probably get back to doing that when I'm done posting this one. Unless I think of something else . . . I'd hate to have all the pressure on my one consistent reviewer, though I thank her dearly for her interest and generosity.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Zilch.**

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><p>The room was whirling and tipping, and his ears were ringing, but at least Horvath had released Balthazar from the bedposts, though he was covered in bruises. A penlight was shone in his eyes, and he flinched.<p>

"Oh, dear, I do hope I didn't give you too much." Right. The hypodermic. "I was just trying to relax you a bit. I thought you would handle this better than you did. After all," he hissed suddenly, "you did _fuck_ your own apprentice."

"The difference is that I _like_ my apprentice," he emphasized the obvious, trying to remember what had happened when Horvath had kissed him. Oh, yeah. He'd bit through the man's lip, and then the world had ended. Something like that. The man was smiling as his lip was fixated on.

"Most of us don't _enjoy_ being maimed." The coat and the spats had actually been removed, the blond noticed unnervingly. Horvath was still hovering too close for comfort, and he grasped the other's arms, pulling him upright. "Sit up," he insisted, leaning him back against the pillows as he positioned himself on the edge of the bed, almost absentmindedly resting his hand on the other's thigh, tickling it lightly. Balthazar tried not to recoil, but he couldn't not react somehow:

"I presume your Encantus now has me pegged as the lavender fairy?"

"Actually, no, and not just because you're not a fairy." He was eyeing the solid black trousers and the blue silk shirt, the cuffs now unbuttoned and hanging, with great interest. "Veronica bought you these."

"She bought me the armwarmers, also," he pointed out, making the darker man go pale. "She won't be at all happy that you threw them in the fireplace." Horvath suddenly got up and went to the front of the bed, snaring the good right foot, untying the pointy dress shoe.

"Where you're going, you won't be needing this shoe, or either of your socks." They joined the fireplace. "Veronica can buy you new clothes for your wake."

"Women like to do things like that, especially if they can match something to their guy's eye color," Balthazar smirked, but then he was shocked as he was backhanded across the face, blood trickling instantly from his nose as the man sat back down at his side.

"I'm talking specifically about Veronica!" Horvath shouted, his hand back to the blond's thigh, squeezing now. "You know; the one you _betrayed_?"

"That's between her and I—"

"How can it be, if you haven't even _told_ her?"

"Why didn't you bring this up yesterday?" Balthazar suddenly demanded, completely confounded.

"I would've been quite content if you both had welcomed me in. I had no idea poor Veronica would have such a frenzied negative reaction to that possibility."

"Well, now that you know about my indiscretion, I'm sure it'll end up common knowledge." He sighed, leaning back into the pillows, absolutely exhausted. "It's not like I can take it back, Maxim."

"Will she leave you?"

"I can't answer for her." His eyes narrowed, "It's _her_ decision, Maxim. You always seem to conveniently forget that."

"You'd feel better if she left you—"

"_You'd_ feel better if she left me—"

"I'd feel better if you left her, which you will do, very shortly," Horvath spat, now. That thigh was definitely going to have a bruise; just add it to the collection. "You don't need to be restrained; you can barely move as it is, but you keep setting my temper off." The blond just watched him, warily, as he continued, "I can't kidnap Veronica, I can't tie up Veronica, and I certainly can't _rape _Veronica."

"So, chivalry isn't completely dead, after all, despite what you pulled yesterday."

"More's the pity for you, Balthazar," he said darkly, his voice ice. "I don't have any scruples as far as you're concerned."

"I don't see how—" he began shakily as realization dawned.

"You don't see how raping and killing you would help me?" he thundered. "You're not a Morganian, but you are a self-sacrificing Merlinean bastion. You'd throw yourself on a sword for the right cause. And what better a cause than to throw yourself on _my_ sword to repent for your betrayal of Veronica?"

"Don't blame this on Veronica," Balthazar's temper flared now. He was completely fed up, and knew he had nothing to lose: "She's felt horrible for _centuries_. She wished she loved you, just to make this easier. If she loved you, I would've been happy for you, and her, and been on my merry way. I'm sick of you, and your twisted version of love. You don't know anything about love." Horvath just stared at him, letting him have his rant: "And don't talk to me about 'repenting'. If you want to rape, torture, kill me, knock yourself out. You'll get off for a while, and I'll be gone, but it won't change anything else. It certainly won't make Veronica want you, even if I live and she hates me for what Dave and I did. You can't make her want you, Maxim. The most that can happen is that I can make her _not_ want _me_. And that is not under your control. In fact, by doing this to me, you're driving her further away from you, and closer to me. You're hurting her lover. Dave had me convinced not to give your cane back, but she insisted, because she thought she could trust you. Do you have any idea how guilty she feels right now, for trusting you? Nice work, Maxim," he finished bitterly. "Absolutely perfect."

* * *

><p>As soon as they exited the cab in front of the posh apartment building, Veronica was distracted, immediately heading to the left.<p>

"What's the matter?" David quizzed in shock, even as he followed. "Where are you going?"

"The parking garage."

"You can reach it from the main lobby, Veronica—"

"I hear Balthazar's car crying." She was sprinting, now, as he tried to keep up with her, even as his head spun.

"Crying?" he squeaked in disbelief.

"Have you talked to her?" she wondered, looking back at him briefly.

"Her?" It was déjà vu, all over again, he thought sarcastically before coming to a dead halt behind Veronica, who had stopped suddenly, trembling hands up to her open mouth. "What?"

It was coming up the ramp from the entrance of the parking garage to the street, on the back of a flatbed tow truck, and they both gasped as they saw it. The roof was angled down sharply; the windshield was shattered; the long front end accordioned back to almost half its size, which pushed in the cockpit; the front wheels were bent almost beyond recognition. The Phantom was still regal, though, perched on top of the flatbed like a deformed queen upon her throne. Veronica waved her hand, stalling the tow truck before it could turn up the street. She went to talk to the frustrated driver, distracting him as Dave crouched near the driver's door, looking for possible body parts, and trying to read the Phantom's memory. The only obvious trauma was blood on both the passenger and driver windows, almost certainly part of Balthazar's 'trail'.

"The car crashed into an elevator—"

"Balthazar crashed the car on purpose; he apologized beforehand." Veronica didn't mind being interrupted, and she listened carefully. "He didn't have any magic to start it with, so Horvath had to start it."

"So Maxim either took his ring, or injured his hand," was the woman's conclusion. Or both, they knew. "The police didn't find anybody in, or near, the car."

"The parking garage is sizable, but it shouldn't be too hard to find a busted elevator." Veronica nodded, then took Dave's hand, pulling him down the ramp into the recess. "I'll just try and keep up," and she smiled back at him.

* * *

><p>Maxim Horvath was standing over Balthazar now, teasing him with the cane, caressing his inner thighs through the black pants with the illuminated blue jewel. The captive was still sitting up, but he was slumped slightly, head down, some strands of hair falling in his face, and he was scowling as he watched the cane. His right arm was still dead, and he half expected his trousers to disappear altogether, though that wasn't likely, since Horvath appreciated that Veronica bought them. Hell, maybe that's why he was fondling the pants altogether. "Are you still sorry you gave the cane back?"<p>

"If you think you're arousing me, Maxim, you are sadly mistaken."

"Actually, the idea is to arouse myself, and it's working quite nicely; thank you."

"Of course," he realized sarcastically. "How presumptuous of me." The cane traveled over his fly onto the bottom of the shirt, starting up the placket before it hit a roadblock:

"The vest, and the chain . . . hand them over." Of course: Veronica hadn't given them to him, and they were covering the shirt that she had. The chain was easier, Balthazar pulling it slowly over his head, Horvath studying the myriad of pendants on it.

"I would request that you don't throw it in the fireplace until I'm dead," he stated with all seriousness as he unbuttoned the vest. "Or this either, please," he added, as the man pulled it down off of him.

"Very well . . . I would've thrown your coat in, but it would smother the flames." Balthazar actually cracked a smile at that, and for the briefest of seconds, they had their old connection back, before the masks descended again.

"Are you killing me during, or after?" he wondered, now.

"Most likely, just after—"

"So, I'll come, and then go- No—wait . . . _You'll_ come and then _I'll_ go; right? Yeah, you're the Morganian; you don't care if I come, as long as I go." Horvath couldn't help it; he was laughing.

"Quit stalling, Balthazar," he barely managed to get out through his guffaws, pointing the cane at him again.

"I'm not stalling," he huffed in reply. "I'm going to need to die to get over this trauma, of knowing you in the biblical sense, Maxim. You'll be doing me a favor."

"Listen, Balthazar," he snapped, now. "Just because you're beautiful—"

"_Beautiful_?" he blanched.

"I could never figure out who was more attractive: You, or Veronica—"

"_Veronica_," the condemned interrupted hotly, not believing the turn this conversation had taken.

"Veronica always said you were beautiful, from the moment she first laid eyes on you."

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"I've never been wanted, Balthazar; not once, not by anyone." Oh. Balthazar winced painfully. "You get where I'm going with this; don't you?"

"So," he fumed now. "You get to rape me, and kill me, and you also want me to act like it doesn't appall me? Like I'm actually enjoying it? Like the sun shines out of your asshole?" With any luck, Horvath would just kill him now. "I am not interested in your self esteem, Maxim," he snarled. "If this is the only way you can get laid, it's your own damn fault." Balthazar knew he'd gone too far, but it was true, he was going to die soon anyway, and he honestly didn't give a shit. He watched the rage play on Horvath's face, curious as to what he would do. If he killed him now, would he fuck Balthazar's corpse? Most likely, but then he had his real answer as the glowing heavy blue jewel slammed into his nose, knocking him senseless.

"At least you won't be beautiful for the last hour of your life or so," Horvath spat as blood streamed from the unconscious sorcerer's nose, it and his closed eyes swelling rapidly.

* * *

><p>"It's heavily warded," Veronica realized at the one working elevator, David surveying the damage at the other one. "Maxim must know we're coming."<p>

"I know there's another way in, but that's probably the same deal."

"This is going to take a while, regardless, but it will be faster if we work together."

"Is it still faster if you have to teach me?" he wondered as she looked at him. "I just got a crash course in survival and combat skills," he clarified, and Veronica already knew that, anyway.

"Just follow my lead," she enthused, they moving to the side of the elevator enclosure in order not to be seen.

* * *

><p>The shirt was unbuttoned, the trousers open, and Horvath pressed his mouth into Balthazar's slightly open one, sliding his hand into the boxers and groping anxiously. Nothing. "I know how modest you are, so I can do this without stripping you completely naked. I do hope you appreciate that."<p>

"Dream on," was the muffled answer, Balthazar's voice warped from this latest assault. Horvath nearly smiled before rolling him over, all the weight of his head on his crushed nose, and he writhed in agony, laying his face to the side for some relief. On top of his back was Horvath, and the red satin comforter was on top of him. The pillow under his head was already saturated with blood; with any luck he would drown in it before . . . Nope, his bottoms were already down past his knees, and his captor's knees were between his legs. Horvath certainly wasn't wasting any time.

"Fight me, Balthazar."

"Fuck you, Maxim." Horvath grabbed his wrists, forcing his arms forward as he entered into him, just barely releasing a small cry of surprise, and pain.

"That _is_ why we're here, Balthazar," he grunted in delight.

* * *

><p>Finally, the anxious twosome was in the elevator, David focusing his ring on the latest blood 'trail' that Balthazar had left.<p>

"They bickered in the elevator—"

"Those two bicker everywhere," Veronica said testily. "Is there anything specific?"

"Horvath zapped Balthazar's hand for the second time; _Damn_, that hurt," Dave winced, holding his own right arm as he felt the energy that had coursed into his master's ring and out of his shoulder.

"You're feeling that hit?" Veronica asked, stunned as he nodded. "You two are so tuned into each other that it's eerie," was her observation, now. He didn't back down from her almost accusatory gaze; instead, he just shrugged, and she smiled: "If we find anything else before Balthazar, it's my turn to read it."

"No problem."

"Do you know why Maxim zapped him again?"

"He saw him using the hand again, when he was trying to get up off the floor. Plus, he was pissing Balthazar off in general, and was not interested in a plasma bolt war." _Plus, his Encantus, the __**Morganian Encantus**__, knows that my master fucked his apprentice._ Dave was trying to be calm, but there's no way this day was going to end well. The main thing was priorities: Find Balthazar. Absolutely nothing else mattered until they found Balthazar. The elevator doors opened, and they immediately spotted his master's trenchcoat, draped carelessly over a coat rack. Veronica was already reading it, but it had 350 years of information, and she found herself reeling. David helped to steady her: "Are you alright?"

"That was not a smart thing to do," she admitted. "I was too open, and it threw everything at me."

"Never mind that, then," Dave assured. "We're here, and we know Balthazar is, too." They both eyed the main entrance to the penthouse.

"Just a few wards, here," Veronica announced. "These should take no time at all."

* * *

><p>"That's <em>not<em> embalming fluid, Maxim," Balthazar managed as the man astride him came.

"What are you babbling on about?" he growled, not happy to be interrupted.

"Your penthouse mausoleum."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I, uh, really don't know what to say, here. I never really thought of slash pairings in this movie before I got into this site, and now I have two in one story. I would've thought of Balthazar/Horvath before Balthazar/Dave, though, because they're closer in age, and their tension is just unreal. I have a really great screenshot taken from their bathroom fight in front of the mirror, and it really looks like Maxim's doing him right there. I also like when Balthazar's strapped to that fan-shaped Tesla coil, with its conductor sticking out right next to him. Horvath even looks him up and down in that scene, right around the 'My best friend' line, and I think it's wonderfully creepy. And there is that contrast of Bal/Dave being rather sweet, where Bal/Max is just nasty as all get out. I also love the outtake on the BluRay, where Nic and Fred are filming the mirror scene, and Nic goes, 'C'mon, _Maxi_; get in the mirror!" Maxi! It's so funny, but I just couldn't do that; Balthazar's not the one acting out, here.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Nyet. **(I am part Russian, after all.)

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><p>"<em>What<em> is that_ smell_?"

"Death," Veronica answered tonelessly, looking around at the air as they stepped inside, and she sighed in relief. "But not Balthazar's."

"Probably Drake Stone, and Abigail Williams," he said morosely. "We're not splitting up," he insisted, latching onto her arm. "Balthazar and I split up last time we were here; that's how Horvath got my ring, and Balthazar almost drowned in the carpet-"

"It's called the Persian Quick rug, David," she nearly laughed. "It's like quicksand." And then they heard a bloodcurdling scream.

* * *

><p>"Is that too big for you, Balthazar?" Horvath demanded, still pinning the blond man to the bed on his stomach. The other couldn't answer, gasping and grimacing. "Or is the electricity too much?" The door was already open, but neither heard it.<p>

"_Maxim_!" Veronica cried out, he jumping and paling in surprise. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

"And where's the cane?" Dave demanded, right behind her.

"Yes, Balthazar," Horvath mocked. "Where _is_ that pesky cane?" And the blond screamed again, his body convulsing in spasms, perspiration pouring off of him.

"Ohmygod," Dave gasped as the cane's precise location became clear to Veronica and him, and her eyes became blood red. Horvath was yanked naked from the bed and tossed into the fireplace, where every hair on his body caught fire. Now, it was his turn to scream, and he struggled out of the hearth and ran into the bathroom.

"I'm not finished with you yet," the woman hissed, locking the door, soundproofing the room, and disabling all the cold water. "And you will _never_ get that cane back again."

Balthazar was under the red satin comforter up to his shoulders, finally able to turn on his side now that Horvath was off of him. His skin was chalky and sweaty, up to his gruesomely swollen eyes and broken nose, and dried blood was smeared all over his face.

"Get me something opaque to put the cane in," he ordered Dave as an aghast Veronica carefully sat on the edge of the bed, moving some wet, bloody hair back from his face. His knees were up, and he was tugging at the cane with his left hand, but it wasn't budging.

"Do you want me to try and shrink it?" she offered, desperate to help.

"Please," he nodded, his whole body shaking, reacting to what didn't belong. "Just don't make it so small that I can't find it."

"Bigger than a turd; smaller than a breadbox: Got that, Veronica?" Dave said cheekily, handing her a big black garbage bag, still folded up. Luckily for him, they both started laughing, though spasms were still shooting through Balthazar's system often enough that his laughter had hiccupping shrieks mixed in.

"Veronica can't concentrate while you're making jokes at my expense," he finally scolded, the boy's head down, everything suddenly deadly serious again.

"I'm sorry, Balthazar . . . It's just that I'm actually so horrified that I can't help it."

"That's why I'm sending you on another errand."

"Yes?" he asked expectantly as the man hesitated, trying to concentrate.

"The Morganian Encantus must be around here somewhere," he finally started. "If Drake is dead, his may not be current enough, but Horvath acted like his was around also." The man's eyes were buried in hideous folds of bruised skin, but the blue still pierced right through to the boy's soul, and now he was horrified for a whole new reason. "I know you know what I'm talking about, David. Don't bring me an incomplete one unless you can't find the current one. And don't go searching for the bodies, instead. The smell is bad enough from a distance. And they won't be pretty."

"Balthazar—"

"_**Go**_."

"Man, you act like you got a staff up your ass or something," he retorted flippantly, fleeing the room as the couple started laughing again.

"Oh, he is _so_ dead when we finally start training again," the man vowed when they were at last able to be serious. "Now," he said to his beloved. "Let's get cracking."

And then they started laughing all over again.

* * *

><p>"Balthazar, you're making me nervous," Veronica confessed as they waited for Dave to return. The cane was back to normal after having been shrunk to the size of a table knife, and it was sealed in the garbage bag. But the man had refused to allow her to do anything else, though she was sitting next to him on the bed, on top of the comforter he was still mostly under. "Why won't you let me at least check you for internal bleeding?"<p>

"I'm fine, Veronica."

"You have the strangest definition of 'fine' I've ever heard." His left hand had pulled his right arm onto his lap, and he was studying it intently. "What do you need the Morganian Encantus for?" she asked carefully, moving flopped, bloody hair back from his face with her fingers. He liked that, she could tell, the corner of his mouth up slightly, but he wasn't budging, or answering. "Be like that, then," she sighed in resignation. "But I'm not leaving your side."

"We'll see about that." He was impatient, now, staring through the doorway, "I told him to bring it to me; not to read it."

"Do you mind if I amuse myself for a minute?" she wondered now, and that intrigued him.

"Not at all," he answered brightly, and he laughed as all of Horvath's removed clothes were gathered up and deposited into the fireplace, including the spats and the spider pin. "I didn't say you could amuse me, as well," he scolded.

"Tough." She looked around the room, her mouth in a line. She saw the vest, and the chain, and the coat was by the elevator, but: "Where are your shoe, socks, and armwarmers?"

"The fireplace," he motioned with his left hand. "Maxim only let me keep on what _you_ had bought me." The shirt was still unbuttoned, but he had pulled the bottoms up once the cane was disengaged, though the pants were still wide open. "You should've seen the look on his face when I informed him that you also bought me the armwarmers."

"I'm so sorry." He looked at her and scowled. The last thing he needed was _her _feeling guilty.

"Dave?" he called furiously. "You do _not_ want me to have to come get you. You've got about ten hot seconds—"

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry!" He was entering the room with a tray with two cups of tea on it, setting it on the nightstand on Veronica's side.

"Thank you, David." But Balthazar shook his head as she tried to hand him one. "Look, I know you're right-handed—"

"_No_." He was glaring out the doorway, now, where the boy had just vanished again. Now she didn't want any, either.

"You're right, of course," Dave said, suddenly back in the room, trying to appease him. "Drake's dead, so his Encantus wasn't current. This is Horvath's." The man couldn't help himself:

"_Ick_." There was enough room to Balthazar's right for Dave to sit next to him, on top of the covers like Veronica, who had folded her arms, looking off in another direction.

"This seems even heavier than the Merlinean one, but how can that be if Morganism is newer?" Dave wondered, causing Balthazar and even Veronica to eye him in utter amusement:

"_Morganism?" _Oops.

"Well, what is the right word, then: Morganianism?" The couple looked at each other, and shrugged, not even sure themselves, certainly not right now. And then Veronica resumed staring off to the side, and Balthazar's attention was back on the Encantus, which Dave was thoughtfully supporting on his own lap. "Okay, but I still wanna know why it's so heavy."

"Because it's full of self-importance."

_Merlinean Martyr Balthazar Blake betrays everything he supposedly stands for by having carnal relations with his apprentice, Prime Merlinean David Stutler in celebration a mere day after the great Morgana's defeat at Battery Park, New York City, USA. Now drunk with power after their unprecedented victory, they could easily be turned in light of their obvious corruption. The Rising could still happen. Once shunned by the Merlinean Order, Blake and Stutler may go rogue, aka: 'Blakestian', but persuading them to align with the Morganian Order is preferable to ensure victory._

"We had victory sex?" was all Dave managed to blurt out after reading the passage, Balthazar staring daggers at him. Veronica dropped her studiously ignorant stance, and her arms, laying one hand on her man's shoulder as she leaned over to read.

"You_ what_?" She sounded furious, but the more she read, the more she softened. "What a work of fiction," was her conclusion, but then she tightened her hand on his shoulder: "You did have sex; didn't you." It wasn't a question, and David immediately started rambling in a panic, as the couple eyed him in shock:

"It wasn't victory sex; I swear! The fever made me nutty; I was lusting after him all day. I'm not normally attracted to him, well, hardly at all. I don't want him to lose you, and I don't want to lose Becky. He just went along with it 'cause I wanted him. He never said he wanted me. I didn't think it would end up in the friggin' _Encantus_! Now everyone's gonna think I'm gay!"

"Dave, don't make me slap you," Balthazar finally got out. "You're hysterical."

"Veronica's never gonna trust us alone together again!" he fretted, now. "And, _holy smokes_, what does _my_ Encantus say?"

"It'll probably just mention my _unconventional_ teaching methods; we'll check it out when we get back."

"For someone who was so worried Veronica was going to walk out on him, you're awfully calm," he noted now. But the man knew better; she would've been gone already.

"The relationship between Master and Apprentice is sacred," Veronica finally spoke up. "I've been noticing your bond with Balthazar since I've been out of the Grimhold, because I've never seen anything like it before. In the short time you've been together, your connection is unprecedented. Whether that's because you're a descendant of Merlin, and Balthazar was Merlin's favorite apprentice, I don't know. I don't necessarily approve that you've had sex, but you were both very sick that day. How you even managed to do that under those circumstances is beyond me, or maybe those circumstances caused it in the first place." She paused now, ominously: "Just don't do it again." The couple smiled at each other.

"We're _Merlineans_, David, not _saints_," Balthazar assured gently. He was leaning back against Veronica, now, her hand over his abdomen under the cover, as he finally let her check him for internal bleeding. There was nothing major, just a few nicks, cuts, and burns from Horvath trying to electrocute him internally, but a normal person would've been in trouble. But neither Balthazar nor Veronica were normal people, and he felt a warm glow throughout as she healed his innards.

"Compared to Morganians, Merlineans _are_ saints," Dave pointed out, eyeing the couple, but trying to ignore what might be going on. Balthazar hadn't looked this at ease since . . . since they'd had sex!

"Then _saint_ has a much broader definition than I've ever realized."

"What about Becky?" Dave was still seriously on edge.

"If you tell her, and I say you should, you must be prepared to deal with the consequences. If she can't handle it, let her go, David." Balthazar was holding the boy by one shoulder, the right hand mainly laying there, and barely touching his other arm. "You do not, under any circumstances, want to turn into a Maxim Horvath. You cannot force a woman to love you, listen to you, or forgive you." He knew the boy was having a hard time looking at his mangled, bloody face: "Focus on my eyes, David, not what's around them." Stutler glanced at Veronica, her dark eyes full of conviction as she looked back, her hands on her man's shoulders, supporting him in every way. Balthazar had been through utter hell today, tortured and punished by a man who just couldn't let go of Veronica, or his hatred of the man she loved. "We shouldn't have done that, but life is all about dealing with the consequences of your actions. You don't have to tell her, and she may never find out, but it isn't likely, and any enemies you may have will love nothing more than to spill your darkest secrets." A long pause, "I don't know if your relationship with Rebecca is strong enough to handle this, because it's so new, but you must be as honest as you can. And," he smiled wanly, "don't stalk her boyfriend if she ultimately chooses someone else." He nodded towards the bathroom Horvath was silently imprisoned in by Veronica. "That will _never_ end well."

Dave nodded, knowing Balthazar was right, of course, but he was still seriously shaken. Veronica removed the tray from her nightstand to her lap, and now there were _three _steaming hot cups of tea on it, they each taking one, drinking gratefully.

"We have to clear our tracks, to make it like we were never here, down to the blood, sweaty sheets, and the fingerprints," Balthazar informed them, now, all business. "We'll clean up, leave, and make an anonymous phone call to the police, where they will proceed to find a frantic, naked, hairless, burned Horvath locked in the bathroom, and two decomposing bodies elsewhere." He smiled wickedly, now, eyeing Veronica, who was also smiling, though not as devilishly. But she was learning, and she kissed Balthazar deeply as Dave laughed, doing his best Desi Arnaz as Ricky Ricardo impersonation:

"'Lu-u-ucy! You gotta lotta 'splainin' to do!'"

**The End**

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Alrighty, then. _Now_ I'm happy with the ending, and I only added three little paragraphs. I had left the teacups hanging, and of course they're not home, and Horvath's locked in the bathroom without any powers. Not to mention the bodies! I really like Becky, but it's not _that _important, in the grand scheme of things, though I don't think Dave could leave that hanging too long, because it will eat him up. Balthazar's a complete mess, but Veronica'll take care of him. And he already said what'll probably be in Dave's Encantus. And the Phantom's always salvageable. I've been writing non-stop for weeks, now. I just also posted a _Season of the Witch _fanfic under that movie, but it's short because, let's face it, just about everybody dies. I think my head's empty, now, so I'll go back to reviewing everybody else's work, here, until I either finish or think of something else, or get back to my OC novel. I posted this fairly quickly, so I think it'll hold everyone for a little while, at least. And I couldn't resist the _I Love Lucy_ reference; I just hope that hasn't been overdone. I never actually liked that show, but certain lines are obviously priceless. Thank you.


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